Save the Queen
by SerialRavist
Summary: Ramza visits Delita to ask some old questions but ends up coming home with far more than just answers.
1. Chapter 1: Bad Ideas

_Author's Notes: I actually wrote this fic at the request of an anonymous reviewer, madpostman. I was tossing around a few ideas for FFT fics, trying to decide what to write next, and after reflection this one sounded interesting. So here you go. :)_

_I would note that much of the action in here is going to take place in, and between, the heads of the characters. There probably won't be much in the way of fighting. I've never tried my hand at anything quite like this so I hope it is an enjoyable read._

_Needless to say, I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter One: Bad Ideas

Alma did not look back as they left the graveyard. Fleecy white cloud-dunes rippled across the sky above, allowing bars of muted afternoon sunlight to drift across the tree-studded landscape around Orbonne. A warm breeze whispered through the branches, rustling leaves and needles, tugging at her dress and dustcloak.

She was smiling, she realized. It didn't make sense, really, to smile after a funeral, but perhaps it was different when the funeral in question was one's own. The turnout had surprised her, off in a remote part of the world as it was, but she'd seen a fair number of familiar faces, friends, distant relatives, teachers from the monastery. The orator's words had dragged a few sniffles out of her, prompting her brother to lay a hand on her arm, probably half in comfort and half to keep her from running out from their hiding place to greet everyone. His caution had been unnecessary, however; the mourners had begun to wander away from the new grave precisely because they'd made peace with her memory. She had left no loose ends, nothing tying her to Orbonne or to Igros. She was free.

Free and dead.

Being dead was certainly strange; never in her dreams would she have imagined she'd be the kind of person to fake her own death, but the remains of Glabados Church had effectively done it for her. Certainly they honestly believed she truly was dead, but the funeral, likely just a means of covering their tracks, was an unintentional gift, a token apology for their treatment of her and of Ivalice as a whole. She had accepted the apology, had forgiven them, but there was no longer a place for her in the quiet monastery walls.

And that, she reflected, was good. There was a new place for her.

Ducking under a low-hanging branch, she spared Ramza a sideways glance. He rode easily, gloved hands gripping the reins with absent skill, soulful hazel eyes clouded in thought as he scanned nearby trees out of long habit.

Turning her gaze back to the road, Alma concealed another smile. She knew him inside and out, now, and likewise knew what he was thinking. _He's worrying again._ Worrying, she guessed, about Olan, about whether it would have been better to speak with the man, or perhaps to have avoided his notice altogether. _Don't worry about him, Ramza. From what you've told me, he won't betray us._ Her brother did not speak his mind, however, so she remained silent as well.

Hours slid past as they rode; shadows grew longer, eventually merging into a dusky whole. The road had long since left the coastline behind, meandering now through solid forest. Though they would not reach Dorter before nightfall, even mounted, it had been her brother's hope to get there while the inns still had rooms to let. Alma was not particularly worried; Dorter always had space.

It was another problem that held her attention at the moment. "Ramza, I'm hungry."

He blinked at her through the twilight gloom, reverie dissipating, before finally nodding. "I don't suppose the other mourners will catch up with us at this point," he murmured, slipping out of Boco's saddle and to the ground.

Alma dismounted as well, pausing to ruffle Heppoko's feathers playfully; the bird nuzzled her hand in response. "I still have some apples," she declared, unbuckling a saddlebag and rooting through it. "And some of those strips of venison we got on the way down, I guess."

"Good," he answered, stretching backwards with a grimace. "Though I can still taste them from this morning."

Snickering, Alma distributed their food, giving him the less-bruised of the two green apples remaining. After hopping briefly in place to stretch out sore leg muscles, she ate.

The meal, as such, went quickly; in moments Ramza had finished his salted venison and tossed the apple core into the woods. While Alma buckled the saddlebag back up, she could feel his eyes on her.

"Alma," he began, his voice low. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she replied truthfully, turning to face him in the near-darkness of the forest. "Really."

He nodded doubtfully, shadows shifting across his face. "It's... it's okay to cry at funerals, you know."

She grinned at him. "It was _my_ funeral, silly, and I'm still alive. I'm fine. I actually feel... happy."

He smiled uncertainly. "Why?"

The grin faded from her face as she pondered how to explain it. "Because I'm with you," she answered plainly after a moment.

A year ago, perhaps, he might have laughed nervously at such a comment, but now he simply nodded again, stepping forward to wrap arms around her in a tight hug. Alma melted into him, burying her head against his collarbone. In the darkness all around, crickets chirped quietly, and somewhere among the trees a distant owl hooted, but Ramza remained silent and so did she.

Eventually he released her, ruffling her hair before stepping back. "We should go," he noted, "if we're going to reach Dorter tonight."

"Yes," she agreed. As Ramza smiled and climbed back atop Boco, Alma followed suit, keeping her eyes on him as she swung a leg over her own saddle. What she'd told him was the unvarnished truth, and she suspected he knew it.

As they set off again through the night-shrouded woods, the familiar fingers of fear left her heart light and unmolested; she had not been afraid of anything since coming back. Even traveling through a forest at night failed to stir a sense of unease in her chest. In the slight chance that they encountered monsters the chocos couldn't simply outrun, Ramza would dispatch of them, keeping her safe, exactly as an older brother should. Although, in truth, after what they'd been through together mere goblins and wild chocobos seemed almost trifling.

There were still nights when unforgettable images would steal into her dreams, memories of waking up on the deck of an airship floating in nothing, of soul-burning possession and the laughter of demons, but those dreams weren't nightmares. They were warm dreams, pleasant ones, because they'd won. Because they'd survived. Because he'd been there. Her brother had chased her captors literally into hell to retrieve her. There was nowhere she could go that he couldn't find her, no danger she could be in that he wouldn't wade through to bring her back to safety. _That's Ramza._

Eventually he must have sensed her gaze, for he spared her a sidelong glance and grinned. "Eyes on the road, Alma. You don't want to steer Heppoko into a tree, do you?"

She stuck her tongue out at him but did as he asked. In truth the choco's eyes were sharper than hers in the darkness, and any guidance she offered the bird would likely serve more as hindrance than help.

When they reached Dorter, streetlights were still burning in the city's numerous market districts. Ramza steered them towards an inn he claimed to have stayed at numerous times over the last year or two, a place where the innkeeper could be trusted.

Trusted or not, the man had only two rooms available when they arrived, neither very large. Ramza paid for one, then ordered up a warm meal for the both of them. Crowded into a corner of the sweaty common room, they ate quickly and in silence, then retired for the night.

Once up to the room Ramza gave her another hug, then stripped down to his breeches and slipped into the bed, of which Alma quickly realized there was only one. Shrugging, she tugged off her boots and joined him, curling into a ball and pulling the blankets to herself. In moments sleep found her.

The next morning, they left early, heading north out of town. Their route would take them through the desert towards Goland, then up through Lesalia before veering eastward across the northern edge of Ivalice, eventually carrying them out of Ivalice altogether, to a place they'd only visited briefly a month ago. They adopted assumed names, Ramza going by Dietrich and Alma choosing Emerald. She found an herb in Goland to dye their hair black, though it would need to be reapplied regularly, and Ramza went so far as to cut his to a shaggy finger-length.

A few days after leaving Lesalia, however, he began to seem preoccupied, his conversation absent, his smiles coming a heartbeat too late. Alma pondered this in concern but said nothing; better to talk when they stopped, rather than while pushing the chocos along the well-worn road to the capital.

To her surprise, once they reached Zeltennia, Ramza brought the chocos into an inn's stable. Frowning, she watched him toss a few coins to the bleary-eyed stableboy there, then followed him inside.

"Ramza," she hissed in the short hallway between the stables and the common room. "What are we doing here?"

He hesitated, turning to face her in the narrow space. Though she could generally read his intentions in his eyes, at the moment they were inscrutable as a wizard's, guarded and worried. "I... think we should spend the night in Zeltennia," he explained quietly.

"Here?" she repeated in disbelief. "Ramza, that's..." Trailing off, she glanced up and down the hallway, but the wooden doors at both ends stood closed. "This is the worst possible place to stay," she continued in a whisper. "You know who lives here, right? Who rules here?"

"Oh. Yeah." He laughed weakly, an unconvincing gesture.

Some pieces clicked together in Alma's mind. "You're planning to do something stupid," she guessed. _What could...?_ "It's him, isn't it? You want to do something to Delita." _Please let that not be it._

His brows furrowed angrily. "Not _to_ him. I just want to talk to him. One last time."

She rubbed her face tiredly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she sighed. "He's a king now. He isn't your friend anymore."

"I think he still is," countered Ramza defensively. "Part of him, at least. If I find him when there's no one else around, no guards or anything, I think he'll talk to me."

"Why?" she charged, planting hands on her hips. "What's so important that you need to tell him, or ask him?"

"Teta," he answered wearily, eyes sliding shut. "I want to know... I need to see if he... holds that against me. I don't want to leave Ivalice forever without... clearing things up."

She hesitated, chewing a lip. "You already have left Ivalice forever," she pointed out gently. "Everyone thinks you're dead, remember? No one's expecting you to tie up all your loose ends."

"This isn't for everyone else," he explained seriously, glancing up at her again. "This is for me. I need to know." His eyes went mournfully distant.

Alma compressed her lips, folding arms over her chest, trying to glare at him. "I worried about you enough when you were fighting everyone," she noted accusingly. "I don't want to go through that again. We agreed that we were done doing things like this."

"This is the last time," he assured her firmly, eyes snapping back to her face. "Then I'm done."

"Why didn't you say anything before this?" she sighed, irritated. "Did you just come up with this now, or have you been planning it for a while?"

"I... well, last night," he answered, shifting his feet. "But I've been wondering about it for months."

"Why can't you wait till he's somewhere else? Somewhere not surrounded by guards and wizards?" She waited briefly, but he just blinked back at her. "Ramza... please don't go."

A pained look crossed his features and he shuffled forward, planting hands against the side of her head and a kiss against her brow. "I need to go," he repeated softly.

Alma lowered her gaze, keeping her arms folded. _I can't say no,_ she realized helplessly. _It would eat him up forever if he didn't get this off his chest._ "Then at least let me go with you," she whispered.

"No." His voice turned hard, almost curt, and he lifted her head to peer meaningfully into her eyes. Strawlike black hair looked weirdly incongruous over his tanned features.

"I'm serious," she insisted, staring back up at him. "I can help protect--"

"Absolutely not," he interrupted. "You're staying here if I have to tie you to the bed."

She raised an eyebrow at this, hoping to throw him off-balance, but though he had the grace to blush slightly, he shook his head. "I'm serious, Alma. I'm not budging on this. I need to be stealthy more than I need protection. You'll be safe here in the inn."

"It's not myself I'm worried about," she muttered, tearing her gaze from his. "It's still a terrible idea."

"Maybe," he allowed quietly. "I'll be safe, though. They won't even see me until I'm already past them."

She scowled at the wall. "They'd better not."

He chuckled, ushering her gently towards the inn door. "Let's go get a room."

* * *

Ovelia knelt in the ruins of the castle church. She was praying. 

_God,_ she sighed, head down, eyes closed, _thank you for showing me what kind of a man he is. I just... I wish you would have chosen a less painful way to do it._ Although, she reflected, perhaps he had; everyone else had known before this morning, but not her. Perhaps it had taken extreme measures to get the message through. Tears burned her eyes at the thought, and her hand twitched, wanting to rise to her belly, but she quickly stilled it.

_Lord, it is an evil act, what I am about to do._ She paused, sniffling, but steeled herself. _I don't mean to question you, but surely you did not mean for a monster like him to wear the crown. Either way, though, I do not ask for your forgiveness. Let it go to another, to someone more deserving than me._

Silently concluding her prayer, she lifted her other hand, the one with the dagger, and kissed the blade with trembling lips. Her palm stung at the movement, a smear of drying blood there a testament to the fallout of her revelation just hours ago. _Strong. For once, I have to be strong. I owe Ivalice this much._

Opening her eyes, she gazed absently at the crumbling rock all around, the church ruins glowing in warm afternoon sunlight. She did not know how long it had been since the structure had stood as it should, but to her its condition spoke volumes. Zeltennia, it said, was ruled by men of cold priorities, men who valued swords and chocos and calculated intrigue over the armor of faith. _And maybe they're right,_ she reflected bleakly. _Look at what it's gotten them. Power. Control. All I have is an ache in my belly and fury in my heart._

Sighing through clenched teeth, she concealed the dagger as best she could in the folds of her dress. It wouldn't be long, now. He would have expected her to be in their room after he finished with the duties of court, and would know to find her here instead.

Again her wandering eyes alighted on the woeful remains of the church. There was another one, a whole one, in the city proper for the pious masses to frequent. He had been very keen to keep it there, to keep that one in good repair. _Let them have their faith,_ he'd explained once. _It keeps our heads where they belong, doesn't it?_ It was just a tool to him, like everything. Like everyone. Her eyes tightened just thinking about it, her lip threatening to tremble; with effort she put him out of her mind, made herself strong again.

Unbidden, her thoughts drifted back as they often did of late, back to familiar and treasured faces. Simon's kindly wrinkles. Alma's cheery smile. Agrias' stern loyalty and Ramza's earnest kindness. They'd all been people who had respected her, had appreciated her company simply as another human being, whatever their positions might have been. _Friends._ All dead now, of course. She had no idea which he'd killed and which had died by other means, but he had certainly not shed a tear for any, even his childhood friend. No matter whose hands had done the deeds, she suspected she knew whose mouth had given the orders.

A lump arose in her throat and she swallowed past it. It was strange, she reflected; even after a royal wedding, after all the pomp of statehood, the happiest moments in her life had been stupid little things, done on whims. Picking flowers in the monastery garden with Alma. Playing the reed flute with Ramza. Laughing at everyone's jokes as they sat around a campfire in the hills, tired after another day running from Bart Company.

_I wish I'd known, back then,_ she sighed sadly. _I might have done things differently. Would it have been so bad to... to stay with them? To take a different name, maybe learn a craft? At least then I'd be useful. I'd have friends._

One of her reasons for marrying him, she reflected, was to bring peace back to Ivalice; to that end she was willing to give up a great many things. Only now, it seemed almost silly; even if she'd fallen to a stray arrow in one of the many battles surrounding her at some point, she doubted it would have been any harder for him. He was just so... so _strong;_ he would have forged the country back together with nothing more than his bare hands and the strength of his will. Marrying her had been a shortcut for him, not a requirement.

_He won't be strong forever,_ she assured herself grimly, fingers tight on the dagger hilt. _Not after today._

As though thinking of him had been a summons, the sounds of choco claws on rock drifted over from somewhere behind her, growing louder as its rider approached. "Here you are," he called cheerfully. "Everyone's been looking for you."

Ovelia squeezed her eyes shut, waiting. _Soon. Be strong._

The chocobo slowed, and shortly came the soft thump of boots striking the earth. Footsteps followed, a slow, confident gait she would have recognized instantly even had she not already known who it was. "Today's your birthday, right?" he continued mildly, striding ever nearer. "These flowers..."

_Now._ Twisting around, she stabbed with all her might, driving the little dagger forward; steel scraped across his armor before the point found an opening and slipped into the flesh beneath.

Dark eyes widened in shock. A bouquet of roses tumbled to the rocky ground.

* * *

Ramza ghosted through Zeltennia Castle's stone hallways, unseen. Oil lamps flickered warmly at regular intervals, splashing golden illumination on tapestries of battle scenes from generations past. 

_Where is he?_ Lips twisted irritably as he came to an intersection, he glanced in every direction, but saw only more hallway, more lamps and tapestries. To his left a pair of greying nobles strolled in his direction, chatting in low voices, one of the men making elaborate gestures as he related some story or other.

Shaking his head, Ramza padded ahead, through the intersection and the noblemen's field of vision, but they failed to raise an alarm. Failed to see him at all. He smiled faintly to himself.

At first he had been nervous sneaking into the castle so, but after more than an hour navigating its labyrinthine corridors, frustration had long since replaced anxiety. No one could see him, true, but he was still unable to open doors and the like; seeing one open by itself would have attracted some rather unwanted attention. At one point he had waited at the end of a hallway for a quarter-hour until a muttering guard had come by and done him an unwitting favor.

Even so, he reflected glumly as he rounded another corner, success at sneaking did not imply success at finding Delita. Zeltennia Castle was huge, and by rights his friend could be anywhere inside it. Uncomfortably he recalled the time they'd spoken in the city's church, when Ramza had had to show himself openly to make Delita come to him. _Not doing that this time, though,_ he reminded himself. Alma had made him promise.

As he wandered, an open doorway caught his attention and he paused, backtracking a few steps to glance through it. Within, a flight of stairs led downward, opening into what looked to be a grassy space; sunlight slanted in at the bottom, painting a triangle of the stone wall in golden hues.

_A courtyard?_ wondered Ramza. After a moment he shrugged, stepping carefully down the stairs; the clothes made him invisible, not silent.

The place turned out not to be a courtyard at all, or at least not one like any he'd ever seen. The crumbling ruins of some stone structure stood in one corner of a vast open space stretching off to the north. An aging and ill-kept road wound from the building northward, its cobbles cracked, some half-buried in dirt and long grass.

_This is inside the castle?_ blinked Ramza, glancing around. _No wonder the place is huge._ Venturing a few paces into the courtyard, or whatever it was, he glanced around, but could find no sign of the man he sought.

A flash of white in the ruins, however, caught his attention. Frowning, he advanced further, attempting to keep to the shorter grass where he would be less likely to leave tracks. The white dress soon resolved into a person, whom he quickly recognized as Ovelia.

He froze there, suddenly uncertain. _I guess she would be here, wouldn't she?_ he acknowledged, feeling vaguely silly; in his drive to find Delita he'd forgotten entirely about the man's wife. _That was dumb of me. I know her._

Abruptly he twisted, examining the doors and walls of the courtyard, looking for guards, but found none. _She's the queen, now. Isn't she guarded?_ After brief consideration, he shrugged; it made his task easier if there was no one to see him. _Maybe she'll talk to me. She probably knows where he is. Although..._ He frowned, peering through the ruins at the monarch. _She looks busy. Praying, maybe._

Standing motionless, leaving no shadow in the sunlight, he hesitated some more. Which way would be better? Waiting here with Ovelia, trusting that she and Delita would eventually meet up, or wandering the castle interior for untold hours more, trying to find him? _Alma's probably already worried sick. I... should just wait here,_ he decided. _If all else fails, I can maybe talk to Ovelia instead._

His choice made, Ramza stealthed through the grass, towards the ruins, eventually positioning himself against the wall a short distance from his former traveling companion. _This is insane,_ he realized belatedly, swallowing and glancing nervously about. _If anyone finds me, there's no way I'll be able to convince them I'm not an assassin. Alma was right. Again._

Shaking his head, he tried his best to shrink against the wall, for all the good it would do. Despite his invisibility, he felt exposed just standing there in the open. Some armor would have been nice, he reflected wistfully, even a good vest, but the secret clothes made armor all but impossible. The layers of plain charcoal-colored silk suddenly seemed very thin protection indeed.

_At least I'm using them, though,_ he added with a silent chuckle. He had been not at all certain he ever would.

After the airship, when the party had been in the heartbreaking process of splitting up, there had been mild bartering over which pieces of treasure would go to whom. Some, the good swords and shields, went quickly, while others remained without any claimants. The secret clothes had been one such, offering too little protection to be of interest to Alicia or Carmen. Agrias had solved that problem, as she had so many others. _Ramza,_ she'd decided, _you like eavesdropping so much; you should take them._ She'd said it with laughter lighting those blue eyes. Laughter and, in retrospect, affection.

Letting his head thump back against the wall, he exhaled heavily. Agrias was gone, now. _So many mistakes._

A sniffle drew his attention back to Ovelia, and with a start he realized she was crying. Tears trickled down pale cheeks, her features tight with, he suspected, determination. As he watched uncomfortably, it occurred to him how lonely the life of a queen must be, especially for someone like Ovelia, someone without much confidence to fall back on. Her tears tore at him, tugged powerful strings in his heart; he hated seeing women cry.

Swallowing, he watched her a moment longer, then averted his gaze. _Someone... someone should talk to her._

In moments, a yellow choco appeared behind a distant set of trees, sparing him further shame. He immediately recognized Delita riding it, plated in gold-trimmed armor fine enough to befit a king. Which, he reflected after a moment, made sense. Delita rode confidently, shoulders back, radiating the natural authority of a man who ruled everything he saw. So visible was his self-assurance that it took Ramza a moment to notice the bouquet of flowers resting across the front of his saddle.

_Oh, good,_ sighed Ramza. _He'll comfort her._ Perhaps the two had fought, or some such.

"Here you are," remarked the new king as he drew close enough to speak. "Everyone's been looking for you." Drawing rein, he pulled the choco to a halt and slipped to the ground, pausing to grab the flowers. Roses.

Ovelia did not answer, didn't even turn around. Her entire posture shouted tension.

Ramza grimaced faintly. Whatever argument they'd had, it must have been a bad one.

"Today's your birthday, right?" mused Delita, striding towards the motionless Ovelia. "These flowers..."

Suddenly she uncoiled, lunging at him; sunlight flashed on steel in her fist. A sickly familiar sound followed as the weapon found a home in flesh. The queen's lips were pulled back in a silent snarl, a vicious expression that looked out-of-place on her face.

_Oh my God._ Ramza felt his jaw drop. _Is she...?_

Delita seemed to share his confusion. "Ovelia?" he whispered in shock as the flowers fell from his grip.

She hissed, attempting to push the dagger deeper into him. "You use everyone!" she shrieked; splotches of pink dotted her cheeks now. "Now you'll kill me, just like Ramza!"

Ramza blinked, too shocked to wonder.

A peculiar expression, a cold one, crossed Delita's face. Wrenching her hand from the dagger's hilt, he pulled it from his side, then stabbed it savagely into Ovelia, an expert thrust intended to seek the heart through the ribs. Steel scraped audibly against bone; her eyes widened briefly, mouth opening in a silent gasp, but then she slumped groundward and did not move.

Delita's blank eyes shifted to his hands, which began to shake. Letting the dagger slip from his gloved hands, he backed off, seemingly unable to tear his eyes from the body of Ovelia. His lips moved silently, perhaps of their own accord. Some six paces away, he stumbled awkwardly to his knees.

The fall snapped Ramza out of his shock. Feeling his face twist into a frightened grimace, he bolted forward, sprinting the twenty paces to where Ovelia lay, distantly aware of his body rippling into full view at the sudden motion. Dropping to his knees next to her, he rolled her carefully onto her back, ignoring Delita. His hands danced over her, searching for a pulse and finding none. Dead, then, but not crystallized.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and rested hands over her heart, on the crimson-soaked fabric of her dress. Taking a moment to empty his mind, he imagined a great reserve of water inside him, cold, clear and sparkling, then willed some of it to pour through his arms and into Ovelia.

Her gasp snapped his eyes back open. She tensed, every muscle clenching in simultaneous opposition, soft brown eyes wide and wandering aimlessly, unseeing. After a moment she collapsed again.

Lips tight, Ramza checked her again, then slumped in relief. _Just unconscious._

His attention quickly turned to Delita, still sitting there a few paces away. The other man's gaze rose to meet his own, and something flickered there briefly, some spark of recognition. Soon, however, it was gone, leaving only a dead, hollow stare which he directed at Ovelia.

Ramza regarded his friend uncertainly, all the questions he'd wanted to ask surfacing in his mind, though now they seemed... unimportant. Whatever Delita felt or did not feel for him was clearly trifling in the man's mind compared to the gravity of what had just happened. Even after the loss and subsequent death of Teta, Ramza had never seen Delita look so haunted, so lost. Like he'd just choked happiness itself to death with his own hands.

Closing his mouth, Ramza glanced between the two monarchs, then frowned at Ovelia. _I can't leave her here,_ he realized wearily. _Not like this._ Reaching for the dagger, he wiped it briefly on the grass before tucking it under his belt, then scooped the unconscious queen into his arms and stood.

For a moment he remained in place, staring at Delita, absently adjusting his grip on Ovelia. His old friend stared back, though not at him; he gazed at Ovelia. At his wife.

Eventually, after Ramza's failure to move, the clothes' enchantment settled back into place, drawing him slowly under the veil of the visible. To his relief, the effect began enclosing Ovelia as well; to outside eyes she would simply be disappearing inch by inch.

Before she was completely under, Delita tore his gaze away, his face wet with silent tears. Ramza hovered uncertainly, then made quietly for the stairs, idly hoping he remembered how to get out.


	2. Chapter 2: Dreams and Capital Crimes

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Two: Dreams and Capital Crimes

The inn room, Alma discovered, was exactly five paces long, interrupted in the middle by a tiny window in the wall, overlooking the busy street below. Five brisk paces, but six if she went slowly, which meant it stayed five every time. Arms folded across her stomach, dress whirling at every turn, a scowl on her face she couldn't remove. Five paces.

_He's been gone too long,_ she sighed, not for the first time, as she stopped and glared down through the window. _It's getting dark out._ The room smelled of stained wood, of aging linens, of impatience; greyish twilight filtered in, leaving the space drained of color.

Lips tightening, she resumed her pacing, scowling at the smooth floor planks. The window did not face the castle, so if they'd caught him, if there was some alarm in effect, she'd have no way of knowing. Not that such a thing would be visibly apparent in any case, she reflected ruefully. Certainly not from where the inn stood. He could be dead already and she wouldn't have a...

The door unlatched suddenly, drawing a squeak from her throat as she spun to face it. Quickly the thing swung inward, apparently on its own power. Shortly something thumped against wood, perhaps a boot, and the door shuddered back shut.

Alma lowered hands from her mouth. "R... Dietrich? Is that you?"

"Yeah," came Ramza strained voice as his footsteps shuffled towards the bed. "There's been a change of plans." Something fluffed onto the blankets, an invisible body.

"Are you okay?" she breathed, staring at the head-shaped indentation in the pillow. "Are you hurt? Let me see."

As she reached forward, the body on the bed slowly faded into visibility, twisting bizarrely through blues and violets until it became a person. Only it wasn't Ramza.

"Ovelia?" she gasped, a strangled whisper. Her old friend's face was ashen and drawn, her chest stained liberally with drying blood. "My God, Ramza. Is she dead?" Leaning in, she inspected the other woman but found her skin reassuringly warm, her pulse faint and rapid but definitely there.

"Not anymore," sighed Ramza, unwrapping the secret clothes from around his head and chest, so that the bare upper half of his body simply seemed to float in midair, a disconcerting illusion. "They tried to kill each other," he continued quietly, drawing a simple dagger from his waist. "With this. I saw it all."

Alma turned a horrified stare on her brother. "That's... you're joking," she concluded.

He shook his head grimly, hazel eyes troubled. "I was waiting near her, hoping she'd lead me to Delita, and when he showed up she... stabbed him. Only not fatally. So he grabbed this thing from her and stuck it right through her heart."

Reeling, Alma attempted to make sense of his words. "Ovelia?" she managed weakly. "_Ovelia_ tried to kill someone? What... why?"

Ramza frowned at the unconscious queen, lips pursed in thought, but rather than answer right away he slipped around the bed towards the window, where he drew sun-faded curtains across the bubbled glass with slow and deliberate movements. When he turned back around in the unlit dimness, an expression of momentary pain crossed his features. "She screamed something about him using her, using everyone. Then she said he would kill her, like... like he'd killed me."

Alma blinked at this. "She thinks Delita killed you?"

He could only shrug tiredly, turning his gaze back to the woman on the bed. "I guess. Everyone thinks we're all dead, anyway. I suppose he's as good a guess for the killer as anyone, if you don't know."

Sighing, Alma dropped herself to sit at the foot of the bed. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a low voice, rubbing her face. "You just kidnapped the Queen."

"We... oh." He swallowed audibly. "Oh yeah," he whispered.

She nodded vaguely in agreement. "How long until she wakes up?"

Ramza shifted his feet. "I don't know," he admitted. "Could be any time now, or a few hours yet."

Lifting her head, Alma gazed at Ovelia lying next to her. Wondering absently why these things always seemed to happen around Ramza, she summoned to mind a simple healing spell, one of the few she knew, and invoked it on the other woman. The stab wound in her chest, mostly obscured by the stained dress over it, seemed to knit partially together, looking as though she'd had a week of rest to heal it.

As she inspected her friend's injury, something else caught Alma's attention. "Ramza," she murmured, "her hand is hurt." Lifting the limb in question, she frowned at a mostly-healed gash on the palm of Ovelia's right hand. "What happened? Did they grapple?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "I don't think so. If so, I didn't see it."

Chewing a lip, she nodded. "I guess..." She trailed off, then shrugged, glancing up at him. "I guess we wait."

* * *

_"Aren't you ready yet, Ovelia? The Meralda family is awaiting your presence at dinner."_

_Seated in front of a silver mirror, she paused in the act of brushing her hair out and blinked at him. "The Meraldas?" she wondered. "I... no, I... I was supposed to dine with Katrin and Verzor."_

_He snorted, trotting over towards her, golden armor clinking faintly with every step. "No," he disagreed quietly. Gloved hands rested on her shoulders from behind as he stood over her, their weight a cold and confining presence. His dark eyes, unreadable, sought hers in the mirror. "No. I sent them to Limberry. Marquis Samgalin is in need of someone with a head for figures."_

_"But..." She trailed off, turning her helpless gaze to the ivory-handled brush in her hand. Katrin and Verzor were a kindly older couple, one whose daughter, Lydia, had passed away during childbirth not a year past. Lydia had been of an age with Ovelia, and apparently of similar temperament. "But I like spending time with them," she murmured, unable to gaze at him through the mirror._

_His hands tightened fractionally on her shoulders; an inch closer together, and they would be around her neck. "You're dining with the Meraldas," he instructed quietly. "I need Victor's estates to sell me iron cheaply."_

_Frowning, she opened her mouth, but closed it without speaking. Instead she simply nodded, keeping her face averted._

_His hands disappeared instantly from her shoulders, and he clinked his way purposefully back towards the door. "Try to smile at Victor, Ovelia," he called over his shoulder. "He won't do anything while his wife is there, but he has a weakness for blonde women." The door thumped closed, sealing her in silence._

_For long moments she didn't move, only sat there staring at her lap, feeling her body sway with every slow breath. Finally she closed her eyes, lifting the brush once again to..._

Someone sneezed, and Ovelia's eyes snapped open. She was in a dark space somewhere, a place with an angled wooden ceiling, the rafters visible. _What?_ she wondered vaguely. _Where...?_

Abruptly memory came crashing back and she gasped, fingers fumbling towards her chest. There they reached a clean slice in her dress, the silk caked in blood. She froze, eyes wide, thoughts panicked and whirling.

Something moved nearby, clothes whispering, a wooden floor creaking faintly under booted feet. A pair of similar faces appeared, peering in concern down at her through the warm dimness. Faces which, after a moment, she recognized. Faces of people who were...

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears leak down her cheeks. "I'm dead," she whispered. "Aren't I?"

"That depends on who you ask," answered Alma's voice seriously, "but I don't think so."

She blinked her eyes back open, staring up into her friend's face in disbelief, but Alma only frowned back at her, concerned. After a moment Ovelia shifted her attention to Ramza, seeking silent confirmation; he nodded once, absently rubbing the back of one hand across his nose. "What... how?" she wondered weakly, confused, glancing from one face to the other. "Are _you_ dead? I heard..."

Ramza shook his head. "I know what you heard," he assured quietly, "but we're fine. You are, too. Well, a little weak, probably, but otherwise fine."

As he spoke, she inspected her wound once more in disbelief. The blade had slipped between her ribs, she thought -- the feel of steel against bone was not something she'd ever forget, she realized with a shudder -- and both her dress and shift had been neatly sliced and thoroughly bloodied. Her whole chest simply... hurt, somehow, and breathing deeply seemed to make it worse.

Letting her hand drop, she gazed back up at the Beoulve siblings, feeling tears well once more in her eyes; that would be happening often for a while, she feared. Lacking anything to say, she reached arms out, throwing one around each of their necks, and drew them into a sniffling hug. Alma returned it warmly, Ramza gingerly.

After a moment she released them and scrubbed absently at her eyes. "What... what _happened?_" she wondered, shaking her head. "Where did you come from? Where are we? How long was I... out?"

The others exchanged worried looks, but Ramza faced her and cleared his throat. "I was there," he explained, obviously uncomfortable. "I saw everything, so I brought you here. We're at an inn in the city."

"You saw... wait, you were _there?_" she repeated, baffled. "Where? I didn't see you."

"I, um, was invisible." He chewed a lip as though aware how unconvincing this sounded. "I have these... anyway, I went there to see Delita, only I couldn't find him, but I found you instead, so I just waited there until he showed up, and then... everything happened. So I brought you back here."

Ovelia frowned, narrowing her eyes in thought. "I thought you were dead," she recalled flatly. "Both of you. You were right there and you didn't even say anything to me?"

"That's... true," allowed Ramza, sighing. Again he and Alma exchanged a silent glance but he quickly turned back to her, his features a portrait of shame. "That's true. I saw you... I'm sorry."

_...saw you crying,_ she finished silently for him. As she stared up at him, he swallowed and slid his gaze away. _What's this?_ she wondered distantly. _He was just using me to get to Delita? How different are they, really?_

As the silence stretched, she sighed. _It could be worse. It could be much worse._ "What happened to _him?_" she asked quietly. "Is he dead?"

Ramza shook his head, clearly glad to be on another topic. "No. I think you just got him in the side. It wasn't a fatal wound."

_Not dead, is he?_ She scowled for a moment, then twisted her lips in distaste. _Should I really be surprised?_

When she did not answer, Alma shifted where she sat. "We need to figure out what to do," she suggested quietly, glancing from face to face. "Ovelia, do you want to go back to the castle? We could..."

"Never," she growled, surprised by the anger in her own voice. "If I do, it's only to try that again." Closing her eyes against new tears, she bit a lip to keep it from trembling. _What... what happened to me?_ she wondered. _Well, I know what happened._ Once again her hand shifted, trying to reach her stomach, but she curled it into a fist at her side instead, trying not to shake.

An uncomfortable silence followed her response. Eventually Alma cleared her throat. "Well," she continued hesitantly, "Ramza and I were planning to head east, into Ordalia, since it's not really... advisable for us to stay here anymore. And it's certainly less so now. We have... actually, we bought a chocobo farm over there, and we were planning just to retire there. We could both use someplace quiet," she added, a smile audible in her voice.

_A chocobo farm,_ mused Ovelia in rueful amusement. _Alma, maybe, but Ramza in retirement? I don't believe it._

"Ovelia?" prompted Alma gently. "What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?"

"I..." She fell silent, thinking, though really her goals had not changed a hair since this morning. "I want to stay here," she decided, opening her eyes once more. "I want to bring him down."

Again the siblings frowned at one another; Ramza thumbed his ear nervously. "I... don't think that's a good idea," he admitted slowly.

Frustration flared into hot anger, and she glared at him. "You don't know what he's like," she hissed, struggling to push herself to a seated position, ignoring the four helping hands suddenly appearing to help her. "You wouldn't say that if you understood."

Ramza's face darkened at this. "I grew up with him," he noted quietly.

"He's not the same man now," countered Ovelia tightly. Pain throbbed in her chest, a dull ache pulsing with every beat of her heart.

Ramza opened his mouth, then closed it again for a moment before replying. "I think he is."

"Then you don't know him," concluded Ovelia. "He's a monster."

"Even so," sighed Ramza irritably, spreading his hands, "what are you going to do? If you kill him, who's going to take his place? Everyone with power is dead but him."

"_I_ will," she snapped. "I'm the Queen."

He hesitated, brow furrowing in intense thought, though why, she could not say. Eventually he slumped slightly, shaking his head.

"If I might suggest," interrupted Alma delicately, "it's late, and we won't be overthrowing anyone tonight. Let's sleep on it and figure out what to do tomorrow."

Ramza muttered his indistinct assent, though Ovelia found herself glaring at him a moment longer. _Why am I so mad?_ she wondered distantly. _Ramza isn't a bad person._ Teeth clenched, she gave her head a toss, dismissing the argument, if that was what it had been. "Fine. I can sleep on the floor."

"But you're hurt," protested Alma. "And you're..."

Ramza cut her off. "We can't stay here," he declared firmly.

Alma frowned at him, and Ovelia felt herself doing the same. "Why not?" she wondered flatly.

Hazel eyes shifted to meet hers. "If Delita is looking for you, he'll find you here. We have to leave the city."

"Now?" blinked Alma. "It's dark out."

"It's not too late yet," shrugged Ramza. "I don't think the gates will be closed."

"Unless he's sealed the city," pointed out Alma.

"Oh." He paused, grimacing. "Yeah."

"He wouldn't do that," realized Ovelia, eyes narrowing. "He wouldn't entrust finding me to subordinates."

Ramza smiled faintly. "If he comes here himself, we're not much better off. I still think we should go."

"Go where?" asked Alma wryly. "Just somewhere outside of the city?"

Her brother nodded. "Why not? We can just set up camp somewhere. Unless... Ovelia, you don't mind sleeping under the stars, do you?" He smiled, seemingly embarrassed at having to ask.

His expression was infectious; she grinned back, recalling happier times spent with him, with Agrias and everyone. "I don't mind. It might be nice, actually."

"Good." Clear relief colored his voice. "Although I'm not certain how we're going to smuggle you out. I could wear the clothes again, maybe, and carry you."

"What?" She blinked. "What clothes?"

"Would that even work?" murmured Alma, worried. "I know it did before, but she's awake now. Will that make a difference?"

Ramza hesitated, then shifted his gaze back to Ovelia. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

She frowned. "What clothes?"

He smiled again. "Do you mind being invisible? You'd have to make sure not to make any sudden movements or the effect will break."

_Invisible?_ "Is that... is that how I couldn't see you before?"

"In the castle?" he clarified, smile fading uncomfortably. "Yeah."

Ovelia worried a lip briefly before nodding. "I can do that, if... if you two will be nearby."

"You can ride on Heppoko with me," offered Alma excitedly, clapping hands together. "She's strong."

"That's fine," agreed Ovelia impatiently, "but I still don't know what clothes you're talking about."

"Here," explained Ramza, tossing a loose bundle of dark silk onto the bed near her. "Put those on."

Frowning curiously, she lifted the clothes to inspect them in the dim light, but could see nothing special about them. On the contrary, apart from the fine material, they looked about as plain as any garments she could imagine. "Really? These?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"Okay," she agreed. When he didn't move, she tilted her head, frowning at him. Alma, she realized, was wearing an almost identical expression.

He blinked. "Oh. Right. I'll go make sure the chocos are ready." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Alma sighed. "Do you want more healing?" she asked quietly, turning to face her in the gloom. "I can manage another spell, I think."

"You healed me?" wondered Ovelia, surprised. _It must have been worse than I thought if I still feel like this._ "If you don't mind. I... I don't want to impose."

"Don't be silly," scolded Alma with a grin. "You're a friend. And the Queen." Closing her eyes, she concentrated intently, finally muttering a few words.

Something sparkled brightly; Ovelia instinctively relaxed as a sense of creeping calm stole through her limbs, knitting rent flesh together. The pain faded almost to nothing, leaving only an echo no worse than common soreness. When it was done, she inspected herself, brushing flaked blood from the sensitive spot in her ribs, all that remained of the stab wound. Absently she did the same to her hand, though the injury there had been much less severe.

"What happened to your hand, anyway?" asked Alma idly as she bent to tug boots on. "Was that from... from earlier?"

"What?" Ovelia blinked at her friend, then at her palm. "Oh." Wild sorrow swirled inside, trying to claw its way out, threatening tears once more, but she contained it as best she could. _No. Not here._ "It... I just... cut myself on the blade," she answered, hoping her voice sounded casual. "Earlier today."

"Ah," nodded Alma, her voice somehow both concerned and absent.

Ovelia sat motionless for a moment, eyes on her lap, fingers rubbing the strange clothes Ramza had given her. Though she'd managed to find a handle on her surging grief, warm liquid still leaked from her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Alma?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you." She swallowed. "Thank you both. You have no idea how nice it is to be around friendly faces. Really."

"Oh," cooed Alma, leaning over to give her a tight hug. "Don't worry about it. Although," she added with a snicker, "I was as surprised as you were when Ramza brought you back here."

Sniffling, Ovelia nodded into her friend's shoulder, holding the hug only briefly before pulling back. _I have to be strong, still,_ she reminded herself firmly. _This is for Ivalice._

"How are you feeling?" continued Alma, sparing her a sideways glance as she rose to produce a dustcloak from a leather pack in the corner. "Can you walk, do you think?"

In response Ovelia slid her feet to the floor and stood, frowning down at herself. "I think so," she mused, turning in place; she wasn't certain how much discomfort or weakness she had expected, but there was none to speak of. "I'll be fine," she assured.

"Good," smiled Alma. "Now you'd better change. Ramza will probably just barge back in here whenever he's done."

* * *

After the chocos were saddled and ready, Ramza waited. And then waited some more. 

Leaning against the stables' broad opening to the cobbled street, he sighed, folding arms over his chest. Despite the late hour, the city outside was still active; people still hurried along the street in both directions, alone or in clusters. Some did so on chocobo, and he tried not to tense up too much when they were soldiers, though none seemed to have any interest in the inn. From somewhere nearby, not the kitchens, floated a spicy aroma, as of peppers cooking; he sighed again, hoping his growling stomach wasn't too loud.

"Gonna rain tomorrow, I bet," mused the stableboy sprawled on a stool in one corner. A pale fellow, he looked to be no older than fifteen.

"Probably." _What's keeping them?_ he wondered, glancing helplessly towards the closed door to the common room. _Are they coming down here, or are they waiting for me to go back up there?_

Lips thinning, he shifted against the doorframe and turned his gaze back to the street, a stream of darkness populated by islands of warm illumination under the flickering streetlights. As he watched, a mild commotion turned into a fat man chasing a boy down the avenue, shouting about thieves. No one spared the pair a second glance, the pedestrian traffic parting to let them pass.

"Nice wet wind blowing off the sea," continued the stableboy sagely, peering at his fingernails. "Cold, too. Might see some lightning."

"Could be." As another pair of mounted soldiers trotted past, Ramza frowned after them in worry, but the men seemed relaxed enough. Perhaps just street patrols, then. _Delita wouldn't seal the city, would he? I hope Ovelia was right._ Knowing the man, he'd keep the stabbing a secret as long as possible. _And in any case, if he'd wanted her, he'd have stopped me when I was right there next to him. We'll be fine._

The faint creak of the door opening disturbed his thoughts, snapping his attention back inside the stables. A dustcloak-clad Alma stepped through, holding the door open for a moment before letting it fall back closed. Even for traveling, she'd tied her hair back with a big bow, though lately she'd been favoring grey rather than the usual red, probably on account of all the road dust. He smiled at the sight.

She smiled back, sidling over to where he stood. "We're ready," she declared quietly.

He nodded. "Is Ovelia here?"

"Yes," came the Queen's soft voice from a pace away.

"Good." Alma stared back at him, and presumably Ovelia as well, reminding him that they expected him to have a plan after being so eager to leave the city. "Right. Alma, you get up on Heppoko, then while I'm distracting the stableboy, help Ovelia up behind you."

His sister shrugged, wandering over toward her golden-feathered mount. Ramza frowned after her, waiting a moment so as not to collide on accident with the invisible Ovelia, then trotted over to the boy still seated on the stool. "Hey. I have a question for you."

Glancing up in surprise, the young fellow nodded, idly scratching the back of his head. "What is it?"

Ramza hesitated briefly, wondering what to ask. "I... have this dagger," he explained weakly, drawing Ovelia's small blade from his belt, "but the sheath has gone missing. Do you know where I can get a replacement at this hour?" Shifting sideways, he did his best to hide Heppoko and Alma.

The Zeltennian snickered, pushing himself upright on the stool. "You have that thing and lost the sheath? Usually it's the other way around. Should keep it buckled to you next time."

Chuckling nervously, Ramza smiled. "Yeah. I probably should."

"Well," sighed the boy thoughtfully, "not much you can do about it now, I suppose. All the craftsmen have gone home for the day, likely, but old Garcia is usually wandering the Warren at this hour. You'll recognize him right off; he's the only one arguing with himself and wearing a yellow cloak that's twice as big as he is. He has all sorts of odds and ends he sells."

"Ah," he acknowledged. "I think I've seen him before." Glancing back, he spotted Alma on the choco; she gave him a faint smile and a thumbs-up. "You've been a good help," he continued, digging into his coinpurse to toss a five-gil piece to the boy. "Tell Morris I'm sorry we couldn't stay the night."

"I'll do that," vowed the stableboy seriously. "Travel safely. Lots of brigands around these days."

"Yeah." Offering the youth a nod, Ramza made his way back towards the women. "We're ready," he announced, climbing into Boco's saddle.

Alma nodded, not speaking, and together they rode into the street, taking their ease so as not to disrupt the illusion on Ovelia. No one bothered them, or even glanced at them twice, as they threaded through tight night-cloaked streets towards the city's eastern gate. Once there, the guards frowned at them for a moment, doubtless wondering why anyone was leaving so late, but it could not have been terribly rare for they said nothing. Unmolested, they set off on the road heading southeast, towards Zarghidas.

Perhaps an later, Ramza angled off the road and into the surrounding hills, bearing south, away from the coast. In the moonlit darkness, the chocos navigated without human aid, scrambling around shrubs or over depressions, clawed feet scraping quietly across rock. Some time later, he tugged the reins gently, directing Boco towards a stand of trees visible only as a patch of darker shadows against the distant sky; once given a goal, the bird did the rest of the work.

Once within the safety of the glade, he slowed, glancing around through the near-impenetrable gloom. There seemed to be little underbrush, just a thin blanket of leaves under the canopy provided by sentinel ash and maple. Off to one side, a sliver of moonlight sparkled off the surface of a glassy little pond, the water perhaps accounting for the trees. "This should do," he declared. "Are you two okay with it?"

"We're fine," answered Alma, her low voice almost husky in the darkness. She would be tired, this late.

Slipping to the ground, Ramza gave Boco an absent pat, then trotted over to the women. Holding out a hand, he waited uncertainly for the invisible Ovelia.

Shortly soft fingers slid into his own, soon followed by weight and tension as she used his stability to climb to the shadowed ground. "It always comes back to this," she murmured, "doesn't it? Running away from people, I mean." Her hand tightened slightly on his own.

He compressed his lips. "I suppose it does. If you have a lot of enemies, anyway."

"Between the three of us, I don't know anyone who has more." He could hear the smile in her voice as she released his hand.

Shaking his head, he helped his sister to the ground as well, then saw to unpacking the chocos while the women chatted quietly. The birds weren't too tired after a relatively mild day of travel, but it was late and they were hungry. Smiling at their low, impatient warks, he produced the sack of greens and tossed it to the ground.

Eventually Ovelia's voice caught his attention. "So... what do we do here?" she wondered.

"It's simple," answered Alma softly. "You choose a spot on the ground, lie there and go to sleep. Ramza will take first watch."

"Sleep in these clothes?" Worry touched the monarch's voice. "I'm afraid I'll tear them on a rock."

"Then you can change," snickered Alma. "I packed your dress, but we'll need to replace it soon. Ramza," she called a little more loudly, "would you bring my things?"

Wordlessly he complied, feet crunching quietly through the leaves as he crossed the makeshift campsite to where his sister stood. "If she's changing," he offered, "I'll go refill our water."

Alma gave him a silent grin of thanks and began to rummage through her saddlebag. With a shake of his head Ramza turned and made his leisurely way towards the pond he'd seen earlier, pausing to grab the waterskins from the pile of their supplies. It felt strange being sent off so often; Alma occasionally did so when she needed to change, but if there was no space, she simply trusted him not to look. _Although,_ he sighed, _Ovelia doesn't know me nearly so well, and a queen is probably used to more privacy. This isn't like when we traveled earlier._

Once the skins were full, he waited a short while longer until he assumed the women were done with whatever they needed to do away from his eyes. Straightening at the pond's edge, he whistled once, a low fluted sound Alma would recognize. She replied immediately in the same fashion; they were ready.

Sloshing, he headed back to the others and tossed the skins next to their bags. Nearby, the birds had finished their meal and were settling down for the night, heads tucked under their little wings.

"...am I watching?" Ovelia was saying as he approached. She had indeed changed back into her dress, or what he assumed to be the same one from before; in the darkness he could see only that it was pale.

"Don't worry about it," dismissed Alma tiredly, reaching back to untie the ribbon from her hair. "Ramza and I will split the night. We're used to it."

"That's true," he agreed, stepping up to the women. "We don't mind."

The queen glanced diffidently from face to face, her eyes wide pools of shadow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "Someone who was dead just hours ago shouldn't have to stand up throughout the night."

He'd hoped for a smile but she only stared back at him, chewing a lip. Eventually she nodded, glanced around, and curled up on the leaves using her scarlet cloak as a blanket.

Ramza stepped towards Alma, wrapping arms around her in a tight hug. "Sleep," he instructed. "I'll wake you up later."

"Okay," she answered into his ear. "Good night."

She managed to ruffle his hair before he could raise his hands to do the same to her. Chuckling, he left the women, stepping a few dozen paces to where he could peer out over the hills from the concealment of the trees. It was likely a needless precaution, he reflected, as brigands seldom seemed to venture this close to Zeltennia anymore, but then they had more to worry about now than gangs of thieves. With Ovelia present, he had no desire to play loose with chance.

_Ovelia,_ he sighed, seating himself on the ground. _I hope she doesn't still want to go after Delita._ He knew exactly how Alma would feel about such a thing, and despite what he'd seen inside the castle, he himself had little desire to oppose his old friend. On the other hand, Ovelia trying it alone would be a death sentence; Delita hadn't hesitated to stab her the first time, and though she had more claim to the crown than he did, all the men with swords and bows answered to him, not her. Which, strictly speaking, was perhaps for the best, if it kept Ivalice from splitting again, this time between feuding monarchs.

Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he focused his attention back on the surrounding terrain, folds of land blanketed in shadow. Though this would be a short night, he knew, tomorrow would be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3: Too Many Questions

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Three: Too Many Questions

Low murmuring voices woke Ovelia from a fitful slumber. Blinking away groggy confusion, she frowned up at the dark leaves for a moment before remembering where she was. Where, and with whom.

"Aren't you tired?" Alma was saying, her voice quiet. "You shouldn't have stayed up so late."

"It was only fair," protested Ramza. "We started later, and you looked tired anyway."

"I wasn't..." She trailed off, sighing. "Thank you."

"Sure."

Ovelia grimaced, not wishing to eavesdrop. Though the siblings were speaking softly, she was not accustomed to hearing much of anything at night, and hadn't been sleeping well in any case. _I should be helping,_ she decided uneasily, sucking lips pensively between her teeth. _They're both tired; they look like they've been traveling all over. I should..._

"What are we going to do with her?" wondered Alma tiredly; Ovelia blinked.

"That depends on her," answered Ramza firmly, though she sensed he was trying to convince himself as much as his sister. "We can't do much, right? I mean, Mustadio's waiting for us."

"True," agreed Alma thoughtfully. "True." Silence followed for a moment before she sighed again. "You should sleep, Ramza."

"I will." Leaves whispered gently under his feet as he made his way to a spot some distance away from where the women slept. Or had been sleeping before Alma had risen.

Ovelia felt her brows drawing together in a scowl and did her best to smooth the expression away. _What about Mustadio? What are they hiding from me?_ Unbidden, her hand rose to finger the cut in the ribs of her dress. _They're... no,_ she decided. _They're not like him. I just haven't been around long enough to talk about things. And they don't know everything about me either._

Shifting uncomfortably on the ground, she let her eyes drift shut once more, but inside her mind was unsettled, whirling. Apart from the tense travel yesterday, this was the first time she'd had to herself, the first chance simply to think.

_How do I do it?_ she wondered after a moment, belatedly realizing she knew next to nothing about bringing down a reigning king, about killing one. At least, her first plan had clearly been lacking. _Even if I could get in there,_ she reasoned, _I wouldn't be able to kill him._ The admission, though painful, was necessary; she couldn't underestimate him if she was to succeed. She'd spent the better part of a day planning how to kill him, had waited to lure him to a place where there would be no guards, had drawn him to her, and even so she'd apparently barely drawn blood from the man. For him, however, it had been all too easy, almost casual, a whim; he'd plucked the dagger from his own flesh and stabbed it into hers, smooth as you please, like he was snuffing a candle or closing his fist over a flower. _I can't kill him. He's too strong._

She worried a lip. _So what about politics? What allies do I have?_ Katrin and Verzor were the first names to come to mind, but she stopped there with a scowl. Even if they hadn't been in Limberry, by acceding to his request to go there, they'd shown they were more his creatures than hers. Even her own people were in actuality his people. Olan was the same way, now. _Of course,_ she sighed bitterly. _That's part of why I hate him._

As she thought, crickets chirped somewhere distant. _I have other allies, though,_ she realized, eyes shifting towards where Ramza lay. _People more useful than Verzor Tydan. Hmm._ Brow furrowing again, she pondered her situation.

Moments slid past without any new insights, just a half-dozen fanciful plans made and discarded. Eventually she shook her head faintly. _This is silly. I'm not even tired._

Pushing herself carefully from the ground, she rose to her feet and brushed the leaves and twigs from her clothes, from her hair. Moving as quietly as she could, though to her ears she sounded like a giant compared to Ramza, she made her way over to where her friend stood watch. "Alma."

The other woman turned, favoring her with a tired smile. "Can't you sleep?"

"Not really." Idly she ran a hand through her hair and stared out along the rolling hilltops. "What's the time?"

"It's a few hours before dawn, I think," answered Alma absently, frowning between tree trunks towards the distant sea. "Although, really, I suppose we could start getting ready whenever; it'll take us some time to get back to Zeltennia."

Ovelia shook her head. "Let Ramza sleep," she suggested quietly. "Actually, you should sleep too."

"What?" Alma forced a snicker. "Don't be silly. I'm not tired."

Smiling to herself, Ovelia rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You don't fool me," she noted, "and I'm going to be awake regardless. You may as well find what sleep you can."

"You... fine," agreed Alma tiredly. "Just make sure not to stare at one place. You have to keep your eyes always moving, Ramza always says."

_Always says._ "You sound like you've traveled with him a lot."

Alma shrugged, gazing idly off towards her slumbering brother. "Only a couple of months, now. Plus a little bit earlier, during the war."

Ovelia frowned, recalling the time she herself had spent with the man during the Lion War, recalling friends from even before that. "What happened to everyone else?" she wondered quietly. "Are they still alive too? I mean, Agrias and everyone. Alicia and Lavian... and Mustadio," she added quickly, hoping the other woman hadn't noticed her hesitation. _I'm not supposed to know about him yet, am I?_ she reflected wryly.

"They are," answered her friend softly. "Or were, last I saw them. Everyone just sort of... went their own way, after... after the War. Mustadio... actually, he's at the chocobo farm right now; he came with us when we bought it, and he's looking after things until we get there. Agrias and some of the others bought a keep where they're going to teach people to fight the way they fight." Alma shook her head tiredly at this.

"That sounds like something she'd do," mused Ovelia quietly. Abruptly she blinked, smiling at the other woman. "But you should go to bed," she instructed. "Don't let me keep you up."

Chuckling, Alma did so, turning and shuffling back towards her makeshift bedding, not far from Ovelia's own. In moments the woman was down and motionless, probably asleep.

It took some moments for the smile to leave Ovelia's lips, and as it did so she blinked; her face, the muscles in her cheeks, were sore from holding the expression. _Has it... has it really been that long since I've smiled this much?_ she wondered. _When was the last time? Probably back when I got the news of... back before..._ Pausing, she squeezed her eyes shut. _Two months, at least. Or is it three, now?_

Heaving a sigh, she shook her head to dispel it of ghosts. _I'm on watch now,_ she reminded herself. _I told Alma I'd do it right. They won't help me if I don't._

The night slid past in a cool silence broken only by the calls of birds and insects. Ovelia watched the landscape outside the trees as intently as she could, even wandering to other parts of the camp to do so in different directions, but the world was clearly asleep. Either there was nothing moving out there, apart from trees and brush swaying in the breeze, or she simply couldn't see it.

Eventually she returned to where she started, vaguely hoping she wasn't waking the others with the murmur of her slippered feet on damp leaves, the harsh crack of twigs snapping underfoot. Between a pair of dead and leafless tree trunks, she stopped and frowned at the world outside. So much of her life, she reflected, had been this way, sitting quietly inside, staring out. She hadn't enjoyed it much as a girl, but in retrospect it hadn't been a bad life. Much better than the alternative. The only times she'd been on the outside, where everything happened, had been painful in the extreme. Hearing thousands of men, hundreds of thousands, shouting as they fought for her at Bethla, shouting as they ran forward to be hacked down by the spears and swords of the Hokuten, as they did the same in turn to their enemies. Stepping delicately along the edge of a field of dead in the silver pre-dawn twilight, surveying the bodies lying still in the shadow, able to identify friend from foe only by the color of the cloak, when it had not been torn or trampled in the mud and blood. Watching clouds of ravens blotting out the moon. Listening to Bolmna brushing aside the numbers involved, pretending sickness and hunger hadn't claimed as many men and boys as the blade. Sitting in the comfort of a plush silk tent while wounded men slept in the mud and rain.

She'd gone along because everyone had seemed to think it would be a good idea. _It won't be bad,_ they'd assured her. _You'll just walk around every now and then. Your presence will inspire the men._ What Goltana's aides had painted as a mere nuisance had instead been horrifying, had occupied the focus of her nightmares until they'd recently adopted a different character.

_Never again,_ she vowed angrily, fists clenching at her side. _I'll never be used for someone else's fight again. Someone else's war._

Eyes closed, she calmed herself, forced her breathing to slow. _It's over now. No one can make me do that anymore. There's only my war._

As her temper cooled she opened her eyes again, frowning off into the darkness. Apart from the pain and the horror of what Delita had scornfully dubbed the Lion War, it had also been simply... silly. A young woman of seventeen years engaged in nominal struggle for the throne against a toddler whom she'd never met. It was the sort of thing, she supposed, that, while seemingly reasonable at the moment, would eventually make historians shake their heads. _But it's done,_ she reminded herself. _It's all done. Everything but finishing him off._

Sudden whispering noise behind her caught her attention and she turned, spotting Ramza sitting up in his blankets. Quickly he rolled to his feet and padded over to where the supplies were. Once there he grabbed something she belatedly recognized as a waterskin and began to drink.

Shaking her head, Ovelia focused her attention back on the moonlit hills. _It's... pretty out here,_ she decided, _when it's dark. When there's no one around._ Once more she felt her lips curve in a smile.

Shortly a muted sloshing announced Ramza setting the skin back where it belonged, followed by a faint rustling as he walked back along the floor of the glade. Something about his movement struck her as strange until she realized he was heading not to his blankets, but towards her. _So we can talk while Alma sleeps,_ she snickered silently. _Then, she and I can talk while he sleeps, to complete the..._

She had only a heartbeat to realize he hadn't stopped when he was supposed to before strong arms wrapped around her middle in a tight hug. She blinked, swaying gently as he twisted playfully back and forth, arms tensing as he held her close, every part of him in contact with every part of her.

_What...?_ She felt her eyes widen as she stared unseeing off into the night. _Is he sleepwalking?_ The possibility seemed a remote one; the embrace was too personal for that. She'd been hugged before, of course, by Alma, once by Simon, even by Delita, but this was different, more... she could not think of a word for it. Carefree, perhaps, or affectionate. Though there was nothing obviously inappropriate about it, she found herself somehow reminded very clearly that he was a man and she was a woman. Her cheeks began to heat; she lowered her head instinctively.

"Are you tired?" he asked quietly into her ear, his voice low and calm. "I can take over for watch, if you want."

_Oh, God,_ she realized, squeezing her eyes shut. _He thinks I'm Alma._ "Ramza?"

He froze. "O-Ovelia?" When she did not answer, he gasped, releasing her instantly and scampering backwards. "My God," he breathed. "I'm... I thought... from the back you look just... it's dark, and oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Wrapping her own arms self-consciously around herself, she pursed her lips and did her best to disappear into thin air, but a faint rustle caught her attention. Turning despite herself, she gaped on realizing Ramza had backed away and was actually on one knee, fist planted against the ground as though they were in court, his head bowed. "Ramza," she hissed, darting a glance towards where Alma slept, "get up. Please." Shuffling forward, she grabbed one of his arms and heaved, awkwardly pulling him up. "I hate it when people do that."

After a moment he helped her by standing, though he squirmed free almost immediately and kept his face averted; she supposed his cheeks were as red as hers. "Sorry," he repeated dolefully. "I just... I don't know."

"It's not..." She paused, suddenly frowning. "Wait. You hug your _sister_ like that?"

He jerked his head around to stare back at her. "Why wouldn't I?" he countered slowly after a moment; confusion colored his voice.

Ovelia felt another blush rise over her face, fortunately hidden by the darkness. "Isn't it a little... intimate?"

"Is it?" he wondered worriedly, his voice a weak whisper. "I don't... neither of us has ever... I don't know."

"Let's just drop it," she pleaded uncomfortably, rubbing her upper arms through the dress. "It's not..."

"Yeah," he agreed quickly, shifting his feet. "Good idea."

"Yeah." She cleared her throat, turning slightly to glance back at the night-shrouded landscape. Even without looking, she could feel his eyes on her, doubtless wondering how big of a mistake he'd made; she was not certain she knew the answer.

"So," he continued, exhaling forcefully. "You're... doing watch, then."

"I... I am," she agreed faintly. Absently she fingered the cuff of one dress sleeve, staring out at the world, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

"Ah." He was still watching her, she knew; the feel of his eyes was a palpable thing in the near and private darkness. "So, um... anything happen?"

She swallowed. "Really, just... no, nothing." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, a shaky whisper; she grimaced.

Ramza chuckled nervously. "That's good," he acknowledged. "If... if you want, I can take over for you."

She shook her head firmly at the rolling hills. "No. Get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" he prompted solicitously. "I don't mind."

"I'm not... not really tired," she explained quietly. "There's no need."

Silence stretched. Ovelia held her breath, for some reason unwilling to disturb the night's stillness. Above, a layer of fleecy clouds began drifting across the face of the moon.

Eventually Ramza shifted. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Yes," she whispered. He hovered a moment longer, then made his way back towards his blankets.

Once he was gone, she slumped where she stood. It was disarming, how thoughtful he was; she had almost forgotten there were men like him, at least men who weren't already in their twilight years. Disarming and a little discomfiting.

_That was just strange,_ she sighed after a moment, shaking her head. _The most open personal contact I've had in my life, and it was by accident. I hope things don't get weird, now._

* * *

Alma awoke to daylight. Stretching under her cloak, she blinked up at the sky, seeing grey clouds in the few patches visible through the leaves. A wet breeze rustled through the trees, blowing hair into her eyes. 

Smiling faintly, she sat up, glancing around the campsite. Ovelia was still standing watch -- though now she was sitting -- where she'd been hours before, and Ramza was still asleep, twisted into about as uncomfortable a position as she could imagine. It was difficult sleeping with him, whenever they were forced to share a bed.

Shortly she climbed to her feet, the sound drawing Ovelia's attention. Giving the other woman a smile and a wave, she stepped past Ramza, heading towards the small pond where he'd filled the skins earlier. He didn't stir as she passed; it amused her, sometimes, how she could make as much noise as she wanted without waking him, while anyone else dropping a pin would make his eyes snap open. Even in his sleep, he trusted her as much as she trusted him.

A few quick moments allowed her to clean up as much as she could, and as she wandered back into the camp she nudged Ramza's ribs with a toe; he grunted, rolling over, but he was awake and would stay that way. Without stopping or even slowing she made her way over towards Ovelia. "Good morning."

"Hello," smiled the queen, soft brown eyes warm in a pale face. "It's pretty here, isn't it? I've never really noticed before."

Alma directed her attention seaward and pursed her lips. The low hills between their position and the distant road were stark, half-bare things full of patches where greyish time-worn rock poked through the thin layer of soil atop it. Dew had beaded on the leaves of infrequent vegetation, while above, a lumpy blanket of dark clouds gave the world a sense of imposing silence. "It is," she agreed thoughtfully, seating herself on the ground next to her friend.

"I don't get to sit outside very often," murmured Ovelia. "Or when I do, it's just in the courtyard."

"That's too bad," acknowledged Alma sadly. "Don't you have time to go riding or anything?"

The other woman remained silent for a moment, her features absent as she stared off across Zeltennia. "It's not a matter of having time," she answered eventually.

Alma waited for more, then frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ovelia blinked at her, then shifted her gaze back to the rolling landscape. "I'm too important, he said," she explained. "Too valuable. I can't put Ivalice at risk simply because I want to ride out to see the sunrise." Despite the bitter words, her voice remained soft, neutral, as though her situation were all that could be expected out of life.

"That's silly," decided Alma. "Why not just go? Who's going to stop you?"

"You don't understand," smiled Ovelia. "I can govern Ivalice, but not myself. Though that has just recently changed." Her voice, though still quiet, grew strangely grim at the end; as she spoke, one of her hands rose to her middle, her thumb idly caressing the lower curve of her stomach.

Alma felt her jaw drop; she'd seen that gesture before. After a quick glance to ensure Ramza was not within an earshot, she addressed her friend. "Ovelia... are you pregnant?"

The queen's head snapped around to face her, features slack in a portrait of shock; wide brown eyes welled inexplicably with glittering tears. Moments slid past, and eventually Ovelia forced herself back under control, even managing a wavering smile. "Pregnant?" she whispered. "Of course not. Do I look pregnant to you?" The hand that had been rubbing her stomach quickly curled into a fist, and she turned her gaze back towards the road. "What a silly question."

"I'm sorry," sighed Alma at her lap, though she could feel her brow knitting. _Something's going on there,_ she decided. _Though I suppose it was sort of a personal question._

Ovelia did not reply, and in fact seemed to be fighting tears, her body very still, lips thinned. As the silence grew awkward, Alma climbed to her feet once more. "I'll make certain Ramza gets up," she explained quietly. "Then we'll figure out what our plans are today." Ovelia nodded stiffly, and Alma wandered back to find her brother.

He remained where she'd left him earlier, still sprawled on the forest floor, trying and failing to fall back asleep. For a moment she stood a few paces away and watched him, smiling faintly, knowing he was aware of her presence. "Get up, sleepy," she instructed.

He blinked his eyes open, frowning at her, but his expression quickly settled into an answering smile. There was something different about it, though, something... reserved? Uneasy? "I'm up," he answered, rolling to his feet and brushing the forest debris from his back.

"It's about time," she murmured, glancing skyward. "I've been up for hours."

He snorted, stretching. "And 'up' means letting Ovelia do your watch for you?"

_Oh. He knows about that?_ She chuckled anyway, waiting for him to finish his stretch before throwing her shoulder into his chest, prompting for a morning hug. He gave one, but hesitantly; while she threw arms around his middle, his fingers alighted on her hips and stayed there uncertainly.

"What is it?" she asked, frowning up at him. "What's wrong?"

Ramza smiled uncomfortably back at her. "Do you... do you think we're too affectionate?"

Something cold gripped her heart, something fearful. She drew back slightly, studying his nervous features carefully. "What?" she answered weakly. "Why?"

He chewed a lip, clearly worried. "I was... wondering," he explained. "It was just something Ovelia said."

"I've never really thought about it," admitted Alma after a moment of thought. His fingers were still resting on her hip, just below the narrow of her waist; was that inappropriate? _It's never bothered me before,_ she mused. She'd seen lovers touch each other so, of course, but she'd always assumed it was acceptable between family as well, or at least between the two of them. Now, however, tendrils of doubt crept into her heart; after he'd planted the suggestion in her head, she couldn't help but hear his words as she regarded their position. _Too affectionate?_ She frowned, pondering his fingers on the fabric of her dress. _He's my brother._ "I... don't know," she decided quietly.

He sighed, stepping back, absently rubbing fingers against his palms. "I understand." His eyes were troubled, almost haunted.

She nodded at the ground, understanding completely what bothered him so. _The rest of our lives might be a little strange now. I suppose we'll get used to it._

Abruptly his earlier comment surfaced in her memory. "When did you talk to Ovelia about that?"

"Oh. Last night." He cleared his throat. "She's, uh... she's watching us right now."

Alma blinked, then turned around. Indeed, her friend had risen where she sat earlier, and was calmly watching the two of them from some forty paces away.

"We should talk to her," suggested Ramza quietly. "See what she wants to do."

Lips compressed, Alma nodded. "Good idea."

* * *

As they strolled over towards Ovelia, Ramza ran a nervous hand through his hair; it came back lightly smudged with black. He'd need to dye it again, soon. _Especially if she thinks we're going to oppose Delita._ The thought brought a frown to his face, which he quickly smoothed. 

On reaching the waiting queen he offered a nod. "Good morning."

She eyed him strangely for a heartbeat before nodding in return, though her cheeks colored faintly. "Hello," she answered, averting her gaze.

Ramza grimaced, shifting his feet; he'd hoped she might have forgotten what happened during the night. _Right. How's she going to forget that?_

Alma eyed him briefly, then frowned into the silence. "Ovelia, have you thought about what you want to do? What your goals are now?"

"Of course," answered the other woman, brow furrowing. "They're still the same: I want to bring Delita down." The way she regarded Alma, eyes tight, lips compressed, spoke to a tension that hadn't been there before, not that he'd noticed.

Alma nodded slowly. "Do you... have a plan?" she asked, obviously confused as to how Ovelia was going to take Delita on herself; Alma cared little for politics, but even she understood the structures of force governing Ivalice, holding Delita securely where he stood. At the top.

Ovelia ducked her head, hair rippling in a quick nod. "I had thought..." She trailed off, cheeks coloring faintly as she darted a quick glance in his direction. "Ramza, I'd hoped you could help."

"Me?" he wondered, startled. "How?"

The queen swallowed, but quickly she drew herself upright as she faced him; two hands darted out to catch one of his own in a gesture of desperate pleading. The bloodstains still covering her chest detracted somewhat from her regal bearing. "You foiled him before," she answered firmly, "at Bethla. I remember. He'd been planning that for weeks, but you opened the floodgates and nobody could fight. He used it to his advantage anyway -- I think he had Goltana killed, then -- but he was still furious. He wanted to rout the Hokuten."

Ramza chewed a lip as he met the woman's eager gaze. _Delita was planning that battle?_ he wondered distantly, but his thoughts were not on his old friend. What captured him was the sudden and startling intensity painting Ovelia's face. He'd seen it before, in other eyes, but hers were different. They lacked what he'd seen in Miluda's, in Wiegraf's, the passionate drive of an idealist chasing a treasured dream. Rather, the glow in Ovelia's eyes was a haunted one, something hollow, the compulsive urge of a powerful man to strike down enemies who couldn't harm him, simply because he didn't know what else to do. It sickened him, seeing her so; he could easily recall how carefree she'd seemed months ago, how happy she'd been once she remembered how to play the reed flute. _Something has hurt her. Killed something inside of her. The Ovelia from back then would never have been obsessed with vengeance._

After a moment he tore his gaze away. "I... I can't, Ovelia. I don't think it's a good idea."

Her hands tightened on his, her skin smooth as glass and soft as silk. "Please," she implored intently, leaning towards him. "You were there, earlier. Invisible. You could have slit his throat and nobody could have stopped you."

With her proximity, a faint scent tickled his nose, something floral. Roses. Perfume, then. He'd noticed it last night, he recalled uncomfortably, as he'd been hugging her, but it hadn't registered at the time; he'd been certain it was Alma, and so hadn't taken notice of the unexpected detail. And yet Ovelia, under no such confusion, hadn't stiffened up, hadn't felt tense at all. He was still trying to figure that out.

With an effort of will he regarded her again, warily, wondering how to refuse without crushing her. Without letting her die again.

As soon as their eyes met, she blinked; her hands released his own instantly, darting back to wring nervously at her waist. She quickly glanced away, eyes squeezed shut. Her entire posture radiated an awkward discomfort. "I'm... I'm serious," she added weakly. "I need your help."

He eyed Alma for a moment but she only made a face back at him. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you need to do this?"

Ovelia's eyes sprang back open and she scowled at him. "Because he's a monster," she answered quietly, almost hissing. "Ivalice deserves better."

Ramza sighed wearily. "Ivalice is finally at peace," he protested softly. "If we remove Delita... I don't know what would happen."

"Well, I do," she countered tightly. "I'd still be the Queen, wouldn't I?"

"Some are..." He paused, wondering how to word it; he was somewhat lacking in words, or so Alma always reminded him. Agrias had as well, before. "Some people... they might... see you as weak," he ventured delicately, watching her face, but she only blinked back at him. "If Delita isn't there to keep them in line, they may rebel, and we'd be worse off than if you'd left him alone."

She frowned for a moment, almost scowling, but her face quickly cleared. "You could do that," she decided, nodding as though everything had been neatly solved. "Right? There were rumors about you before your, um... death... so I don't think people would be so quick to oppose you."

_Wow,_ he blinked, staring at her. "We're... we're not... you mean I'd be a general or something, right?" He swallowed. "And... wait, what rumors?"

She bared her teeth in a weak smile. "You were a heretic, you know. A crazed killer."

He chuckled uneasily, glancing to Alma for support, but she seemed content just to watch the conversation. "I don't want to scare people into behaving," he admitted, "and I'm tired of fighting. I just don't think it's a good idea."

Ovelia stared back at him, brown eyes widening in what he guessed to be hurt. "You... you're really not going to help me?" she whispered.

Her tone, so injured, clenched a fist around his throat, silencing him. Fortunately Alma spoke instead, adjusting her dress as she studied her friend. "You're an inductee of Glabados," she pointed out. "Won't people be wondering why you have a heretic keeping order?"

Ovelia blinked, gazing at Alma for a moment. Eventually she scowled again. "Let them wonder. As long as they don't do anything silly, it doesn't matter."

"But the Church," continued Alma, "or at least what's left of it, might stop supporting you. Then everyone will be free to act on their concerns."

The monarch's lips writhed in frustrated distaste. "Only Delita will be dead," she countered tersely. "The rest of my strength will be in place."

"I don't mean to offend," murmured Alma gently, "but you and Ramza are perhaps the two least-frightening people I know. I don't know if it's wise to bet Ivalice's future on everyone staying afraid of your power."

Ovelia drew back, open anger now painting her face. "I think it's even less wise to let _him_ keep running things. You don't know what he's like."

A thought struck Ramza and he frowned. "Back in the castle," he recalled, "you shouted something about him using people. But now aren't you just using Alma and me to help you kill Delita?"

Her eyes grew wide for a moment before narrowing dangerously. "It's not the same," she snapped, "and you know it. I can't believe you would compare me to him."

"Why wouldn't I?" he countered. "At least Delita never tried to get me to help him start a civil war." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he flinched. _Damn. I shouldn't have said that._

"You... you don't _get_ it, do you?" she shouted, fists curling at her sides. "I'm the Queen! There won't _be_ a civil war if I'm still alive!"

"Ovelia," breathed Alma, grimacing and glancing about. "Please don't shout. People could..."

"Oh, stuff it," snapped Ovelia. "You're always siding with him. Always against me. Just... just leave me alone." Her face grew cold; wrapping arms tightly around herself, she pushed past the other woman and strode stiffly away, towards the pond, leaves swishing angrily under her feet with every step.

"What is she talking about?" wondered Alma quietly beside him, her tone hurt. "Against her? I don't..."

Ramza gazed after the fleeing queen. "I think she's crying," he realized; her whole posture suggested ill-controlled pain, back stiff, shoulders trembling. "Has she always been like... like this, and I just didn't notice?" _Someone should help her. Someone should comfort her._

"I don't think so," murmured his sister in concern. "I think Delita must have hurt her badly, somehow."

He nodded, still staring at Ovelia's back, watching as she dropped to her knees near the distant pond. Above, a gentle whispering arose among the rustling leaves as a light rain began to fall, the odd drops cool pricks on his face. "We need food," he noted with a sigh. "Supplies. She'll need some clothes that aren't... some new clothes."

Alma shifted her feet, turning to face him in the wet sylvan twilight. "Do you want me to go into the city? I can get what we need."

Ramza sucked air between his teeth, glancing uncertainly at Ovelia before facing his sister. "I was thinking I could go," he explained slowly.

Her lips quirked in a faint smile. "Do you know how to pick out clothes for a woman?"

"Hey," he protested quietly. "I've bought clothes for you."

"I know." Her smile grew. "That's why I should go."

"You... whatever." He sighed again, shaking his head. "Be very careful there. Please."

Alma's face shifted back to wide-eyed seriousness. "I will," she promised. "Let me get Heppoko and I'll be gone."

He nodded, reaching arms around her for a hug, but it was an uncomfortable one, a short one; she quickly squirmed away with an uncertain smile, then trotted towards the chocos. Ramza stared after her for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Ovelia. He was grimy enough to want to clean up in the pond, but she was still there, and probably would not appreciate the intrusion.

With a resigned shrug, he seated himself on the forest floor and stared off through the rain. _I guess I wait._

* * *

_A shout out to Jeretarius, who correctly pointed out that Ovelia would be quick to ask about Agrias and company. Originally I was not planning to go into this until chapter seven-ish, which in retrospect would have been rather too late._


	4. Chapter 4: Halves

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Four: Halves

_In a rectangle of golden midmorning sunlight she sat in a simple wooden rocking chair, one she'd had commissioned for this very purpose; though over recent weeks it had seen more than its share of use, it remained still now, her slippered feet resting motionless on the warm marble floor rather than pushing in a gentle cycle. Body slouched, head hanging, she did not move except to breathe, eyes unfocused and staring, fingers curled absently into the folds of a half-made woolen blanket. The slow, weary beating of her heart was all that she could hear, a fluid thumping keeping absent time to the silence in her mind._

_She had expected to be crying. The sick, uneasy pain in her middle was not enough to bring her to tears, and the fractured hollowness in her heart dwarfed it in any case, but even it couldn't sting her eyes, couldn't bring a lump to her throat. She'd spent so much of her life crying -- alone in a monastery room, alone in a tent, alone in a castle suite -- so it seemed a vague surprise to have no tears now for this pain, for this loneliness, this dark hole of despair unlike any she'd felt before. Unlike any she'd ever expected to feel, not after the last two months._

_Of their own accord, her eyes shifted listlessly to the blanket in her lap. It had been intended to be a plain thing, grey wool with white bunnies, but she hadn't even managed to get it halfway finished yet. Her fingers tightened, moving to someone else's will, curling further into the sun-warm fabric. It seemed silly now, foolish, how happy she'd been when knitting it earlier. How she'd chatted with smiling maids, dreaming of futures now lost forever, of a smile she'd never see, a laugh she'd never hear. Every loop in the soft yarn was a statement of love, a twist of fingers, a kiss for a phantom. How curious, that she hadn't known. Hadn't sensed the depth of her illusions._

_It happened, she knew. Happened more than she would have expected just a year or two ago. It was not something often made public, no wailing and epic sorrow to be lamented by bards for generations after the fact, but rather a sick sense of wrenching wrongness to be wept over in quiet privacy. Only she hadn't wept. Hadn't found any tears yet._

_Abruptly the hallway door swung open and he strode in, purposefully as always. Armored in grand gold-trimmed plates, he was the visible; he was the epic. The noonday brightness of all human glory. The sun, praised and worshipped during the day, to her moon, no less important but nonetheless unseen by all the slumbering mortals at night. He was everything she was not._

_She lowered her head further. This was not something she'd looked forward to._

_"What is it?" he asked coolly, swinging the doors shut and striding towards her chair. "Why weren't you at court?"_

_She squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her grip on the blanket until she was clutching it, lifting it to her breast. Opening her mouth, she searched for words, searched and found none; as her lips began to tremble she shut it again._

_"What's wrong?" he asked, more quietly now. His voice was soft, almost concerned._

_She swallowed. "It... didn't make it," she whispered. The last two days had been strange and fearful, full of odd discomfort, even pain, in places she was reasonably certain were not supposed to hurt yet. "I just... I found out for certain just this morning. I didn't..." Moisture burned her closed eyes and she trailed off miserably._

_"Hush," he whispered gently; metal clicked softly together as he squatted on his heels next to the chair. A warm finger brushed her cheek, wiping a tear away. "Hush. I understand."_

_She nodded silently, unwilling to speak. Lifting the blanket further, she pressed it against her cheek, her face._

_"We'll... we'll try again," he decided. "When you're ready. It's not the end of the world."_

_She nodded again, slumping with relief; she'd been terrified that he would be angry, that he would hold her responsible, as though she'd wanted this to happen. Tears flowed freely now, leaking into the blanket, and her shoulders began to tremble. "I'm... I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice so soft she could barely hear her own words._

_"It's not your fault," he scolded mildly; his finger continued to stroke tears from her damp cheeks, his touch oddly gentle when not in gloves or gauntlets. "It's not anyone's fault."_

_Sniffling, she lowered the blanket from her face, regarding it dully through blurred vision. "I learned to knit just for this," she explained softly; her hoarse voice cracked. "I thought... I thought maybe I'd finish it anyway, just for... just to..." She trailed off, uncertain how to explain it, uncertain what she even meant._

_"Don't bother," he instructed, standing upright. "There's no point holding on to the past in a case like this. Just forget about it."_

_"What?" she asked absently, sniffling again as she glanced up at him. "Forget...? No, I... I want to keep it."_

_Dark eyes hardened as the gazed down at her. "Get rid of it," he commanded flatly. "Cut it up, or burn it. Half a blanket is about as useful as half a child."_

_Her jaw dropped as she stared back at him, unable to believe what he'd just said. "What?" she managed faintly._

_He met her gaze, not bothering to repeat himself or even to scowl; the force his of his personality gripped her like a mailed fist over a fluttering bird, ensuring her obedience, and he knew it. "You don't need to be there for the afternoon session," he decided, "but pull yourself together for tonight. I have a surprise for you, and we'll be busy." Without another word he spun, striding for the doors and pushing confidently through them._

_For long moments after he'd gone she only stared after him, stunned. Eventually her disbelieving gaze shifted back to the blanket bunched up in her fingers, and fresh pain burned again at her eyes. She'd have to obey, of course; there was no other choice. If she did otherwise, he'd know. He'd be angry._

_Biting lips to keep them from trembling, she reached to her side, to a chest of drawers where she kept all her knitting tools. Pulling one open, she pulled out a pair of scissors, a stunted thing made for cutting fabric. Fumbling slightly, she slipped her fingers into the grips and, after only a brief hesitation, began to cut._

_Only her own sniffles and the whispering of the scissors disturbed the thick silence of the plush castle chamber. As she cut, as she turned hand-wrought love into a tangle of rags, it occurred to her that this was, without a doubt, the worst birthday imaginable._

_When she finished, she stood on shaking legs, unable to look away from the remains of the blanket in her hands. Something foreign rumbled somewhere inside, something fierce and hot and aching to break free of its lifelong constraints. Her trembling intensified; a queasy weakness washed through her limbs, quickly followed by a desperate strength. "I..." She hesitated, licking her lips, but the welling fury inside pushed the words out. "I... I hate you," she realized, whispering. "I hate you. I hate you!"_

_Snarling, she twisted, throwing the ribbon-sliced blanket feebly towards the closed doors. "I hate you!" Her shrill voice echoed back to her off the stark stone walls. "I hate you!" Turning, she strode back to the chest and slammed the scissors back down into the drawer with all her strength._

_Something bit into painfully into her hand and she jumped back with a small gasp. An angry line had been cut into her palm; as she watched, liquid crimson began to well from it, trickling floorward._

_Slowly she shifted her gaze back to the drawer, to a small work knife inside, a simple thing for anything the scissors couldn't cut. She'd used it only once before, and apparently had forgotten to sheathe it again afterwards. Her heart pounded in her ribs as she stared at the thing, weighing the silent choice it offered._

_Eventually she narrowed her eyes, flickering a quick glance back at the doors before snatching the knife from the drawer. He would be busy for some time, yet, she reasoned; she'd have time to tend to the wound on her hand. Any blood there might make the knife slip later, and she could ill afford..._

"Ovelia?"

She blinked, staring at the pond, at the rain-damp trees, before recalling where she was. Behind her, Ramza's boots hissed through the wet debris on the forest floor before stopping some respectful distance away. Rain whispered into the leaves above, created lazy circular ripples on the otherwise placid pond surface.

"Ovelia?" he called again. "Are you... are you okay? Are you hungry or anything? You've been sitting there for a while." He paused, continuing only when she did not answer. "Alma should be back soon."

She sighed, wiping dampness from her face, grateful for the rain. "Some food might be nice," she admitted softly.

"Okay." He wandered off, his footsteps only audible over the rain because she happened to be listening for them.

As he rummaged through the distant supplies, Ovelia sighed again, hugging knees tighter to her chest. _I suppose I shouldn't have snapped at them,_ she realized. _They didn't ask to get dragged into all my problems. Ramza was just trying to save my life._

In moments he returned, plopping down beside her and rooting through a saddlebag. "Let's see," he murmured. "We don't have much -- that's part of why Alma went to the city -- but we do have... I guess a pear that's still unripe. Also some nuts, and one last strip of salted venison."

She hesitated, glancing from the bag to his face. "I'll have whatever you don't want," she offered.

Ramza blinked, then smiled almost shyly, reaching up to rub an ear absently. "I'm not that hungry. You can have it all, if you want."

Lips thinned, she nodded, aware that he was lying; perhaps the months of trying to read someone as inscrutable as Delita had taught her some things about men. "Thank you."

He nodded as well, seemingly relieved that she had agreed to eat, or perhaps simply that she'd not snapped at him. Squeezing the bag back shut, he held it out to her.

Ovelia took the thing, careful not to touch his hands. As she did so, she glanced up at him just in time to see him tear his gaze away from her chest, a miserable expression on his face. Scowling, she dug the food from the bag, but shortly it struck her that he'd likely just been disturbed by the massive bloodstain still on the bodice of her dress. _Not much I can do about that now,_ she reminded herself with a tiny shake of her head.

Quickly she palmed the pear, the greenish color telling her that Ramza had spoken truly of its condition, but she tried it anyway. Indeed, it was too hard, a little too tart, but it was food. Staring off over the pond, at the silent trees all around, she ate and tried not to look at Ramza. _I hope Alma gets back soon._

Her companion did not leave her to eat in solitude. Instead he remained seated a pace away, watching her; she could feel his gaze like a solid weight in her mind. Eventually he cleared his throat. "Ovelia, I'm sorry."

She froze, turning to regard him blankly. After a moment she swallowed a mouthful of nuts and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so snappish."

"I was thinking the same thing about myself," chuckled Ramza self-consciously. "You've been through a lot -- dying and everything -- so I should have been more patient."

Ovelia shook her head firmly. "No, don't feel bad. It's me. I'm... things are..." She paused, breathing deeply. "I shouldn't have expected you to jump to help me; you two already have plans in place to go east, so... I'm sorry. I'll just do it alone." Meeting his uncomfortable gaze directly, she forced a smile, then returned to staring over the pond.

* * *

Ramza watched the queen eat, watched her pretend to ignore him. He couldn't understand why she did that; Ovelia did not seem like the type to give anyone the cold shoulder. _Whatever._ Sighing, he turned his attention to more important matters. 

"Ovelia," he began, then paused, blinking. "Wait. Should I be addressing you as 'Your Grace' or something like that?"

She smiled sadly at the trees. "You know me better than that, Ramza. Don't you?"

He nodded slowly, frowning, toying with the leaves in front of his folded legs. "Yeah. People change, though, sometimes."

"I haven't changed," she answered. He could hear the smile in her voice.

_Yes, you have._ His brow furrowed further as he wondered how to address the topic once more. "Ovelia, I... I don't think you should do it."

"Do what?" she wondered absently around a mouthful of pear. "Change?"

He licked his lips. "No. Go after Delita, I mean."

She scowled at him, pausing to swallow the fruit before speaking. "Why not?"

"It's... dangerous," he explained uncertainly. "He's not someone to trifle with."

Her features cooled angrily. "I'm not going to _trifle_ with him," she clarified crisply. "I'm going to kill him."

"Why?" he pressed, refusing to glance away from her eyes, glittering with unfamiliar fire. "What's so bad about him that he needs to die, anyway?"

"You don't have any idea, do you?" she countered. "For all that you grew up with him, you have no idea how--"

"You keep saying that," he interrupted angrily, "but you never explain what you mean. Why is he so bad?"

Ovelia blinked, eyes going wide for a moment before she tore her gaze away, her face a mask of pain. "It's... I can't... it's nothing a man would understand," she murmured, her voice catching.

He chewed a lip, uncertain what to make of that. "Well... try me," he suggested quietly. "I... I know I miss out on a lot of woman things, sometimes, but maybe I could..."

"No," whispered the queen, sinking her face into her hands. "No, forget I said anything about it. He's a... soulless manipulator who sees people only for how useful they are to him. Is that not enough?"

"Ovelia..." Ramza frowned, hesitating. "Aren't kings supposed to be like that?"

She peeked at him through her fingers. "You're still trying to convince me not to do it," she realized softly. "Trying to make it seem like it's okay to leave him be." Slowly her hands lowered back to her lap, revealing another glare on her face. "It's not going to work, Ramza," she vowed grimly. "You're just like him. You're not going to control me."

He twitched. "Control...? What are you talking about?"

"Trying to decide what I ought to do," she continued in a growl, eyes narrowing. "Like you know what's best for me. I'm not letting anyone do that anymore!"

After a moment Ramza managed to close his gaping mouth. "I... found you totally by accident," he pointed out helplessly. "It's not like I have some... some grand scheme to control you."

"Then why are you doing this?" she charged. "Why are you trying so hard to spare him?"

"It's not him, okay?" he explained, hearing his voice rise, feeling his patience erode. "It's you. You died the last time you tried to kill him, and you'll probably die again if you try again. I'm trying to spare _you_, not him." He waited, scowling at her, but she only stared back at him, a peculiar expression on her face. Averting his gaze, he stared off along the leaf-covered ground, shifting his seat irritably. "I don't want you to die," he added, muttering.

For a long time Ovelia remained silent, and he fought the urge to grimace. _I just finished telling her I should be more patient,_ he sighed, _and then I went and lost it again. Good work, Ramza._

Eventually a sniffle caught his attention; despite himself he darted a sideways glance, then stared. Ovelia was crying. Face crunched up, cheeks pink, hands pressed against her stomach, crying. Tears made a glistening web of moisture down her cheeks. _And now I made her cry,_ he added, disgusted with himself. "Ovelia," he began gently, "I'm..."

"I can't do anything right, can I?" she groaned, her voice high and weak. Sniffling again, she let her head thump into her knees. "I'm useless."

Ramza gazed mutely at her, stumped. Briefly he glanced towards the birds, but Heppoko was still missing; Alma wasn't back yet. Running a hand through his hair, he eyed Ovelia again uncertainly, wondering what to do. Vaguely he supposed he should comfort her somehow, touch her shoulder or some such, but he didn't know her all that well, and in any case she might still be feeling weird from the hug.

Sighing, he shifted around on the damp ground, facing her. "You're not useless," he assured her quietly. "I'm sure you know a lot of things I don't, and can do a bunch of things I can't." He paused, waiting, but she only whimpered into her dress. "I... think I've figured out that Delita hurt you somehow, but you need to heal and move on; you can't let it consume you." _Like Wiegraf._ "You have to let it go."

She lifted her head enough to stare at him with haunted eyes. "Let it go," she repeated, whispering. "Let it go?" Absently wiping her face with the back of one hand, she sat up straight and directed a venomous glare at him. "You _are_ just like him, aren't you? I can't let it go. Not everyone can just walk away from something that... something... just..." Growling wordlessly, she scrambled to her feet and stared down at him, breathing rapidly. Then she spun and bolted off through the trees, golden hair flying behind her, dress splattered with mud.

Ramza climbed to his feet as well, almost absently, gazing after her in confusion. _What just happened?_

A leafy whisper caught his ears and he turned in place, watching a cloaked and raven-haired Alma approaching on Heppoko. She met his gaze briefly, then glanced off after the retreating Ovelia, obviously understanding instantly what had just transpired; the look of withering disdain she directed at him told him exactly how she felt about it.

Shrugging irritably, Ramza sat back down on the ground. _Let her deal with it, if she's so smart._

* * *

Quickly unsaddling Heppoko, Alma gave the bird a friendly head-rub, then grabbed the new supplies and trotted after her running friend. _What in the world did Ramza say to her?_ she wondered, exasperated. _Although I'm probably not much better, with her this touchy._ Lips compressed in concern, she followed to where the other woman had collapsed next to the trunk of an ash tree. 

Slowing her steps as she drew near, she cleared her throat, brushing rainwater from her face. "Ovelia?" she greeted softly. "Do you want to talk?"

The queen glanced up in response, a numb, wooden expression on her face, eyes distant and unseeing. After a moment she sighed, drawing knees to her chest. "If somebody hurt you," she began flatly, "would you want to hurt them back? Or would you just forget about it?"

"Well," mused Alma, stepping across the soaked forest floor towards her friend, "sometimes when Ramza used to hurt me, I'd chase him all over Igros Castle so that I could hit him." Pausing, she folded legs under herself and sat beside Ovelia. "But I was a child then. I wouldn't do that now."

"What if it wasn't someone you loved, though?" wondered the queen absently. "What if it was someone you hated?"

_Like you hate Delita?_ Discarding the thought, Alma forced herself to consider the question honestly. "I might try to get payback," she decided, "but I might not. It would depend."

"On what?"

"On how much effort it would be," she answered with a smile that quickly faded. "And who else might be affected," she added, more quietly. "And how badly I was hurt, whether I could... walk the other way and go on living."

Ovelia nodded minutely, shifting her gaze to her hands, where rainwater was slowly washing mud from her skin. "You don't think I should try to kill Delita."

Alma pursed her lips. "I can't tell you what to do, obviously," she admitted, "and I don't know what he did to you, but... no, I don't think I would try it, if I were in your situation."

The other woman nodded again without looking at her. "Why not?"

"He's... very strong," she noted softly, "so it would be hard to succeed. Even if you do, though... then what? You'd be a killer. Ask Ramza what that's like, sometime, and watch his eyes." She swallowed, closing her own eyes briefly.

"But I'm leaving myself open if I don't do anything," protested Ovelia in a quiet monotone. "I know enough about politics to know that it would be saying I really am as weak as they all think I am. No one would ever help me again. If he wanted to kill me for real, he wouldn't have a problem, then."

Alma shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think he's going to try to kill you, Ovelia," she murmured.

The other woman flickered a dead gaze towards her. "Why not?"

"He made an announcement earlier today," she answered. "You're dead. You had an accident, though he didn't go into details. There's to be a public memorial tomorrow." She paused, recalling what else she'd heard in town. "The gossipmongers think you were thrown from a choco or something like that. Also they say Delita is only wearing black from now on."

Ovelia's eyes slid shut and she slumped back against the tree trunk. "It's all an act," she whispered. "A mask. You know how he is."

"But nobody else does," noted Alma. "They love him, Ovelia. They think he's a hero. Even if you killed him, you'd have a totally new set of problems on your hands."

Then queen remained silent, eyes staring blankly off through the drizzle and the leaves. Alma watched her briefly, then busied herself rooting through the things she'd picked up in Zeltennia. Of particular interest was the food, fresh fruit and meat, even a trio of linen-wrapped pastries she'd found. Ramza would likely be starving by now, she reflected, as he'd almost certainly offered the remaining provisions to...

"Yeah," murmured Ovelia eventually, sighing. "It... it is kind of a... silly idea, isn't it? I mean, things didn't go so well the first time. I don't think I'm going to surprise him twice." Her voice had not departed from its earlier flatness.

Alma frowned sideways at her friend. _You don't sound very convinced._ "I don't know," she answered. "If it were me, at least... I wouldn't look forward to trying to depose him, or kill him."

"Yeah," repeated Ovelia. "I guess not." She began to rub one sleeve of her dress between absent fingers.

Alma waited briefly for the other woman to continue, then frowned more deeply. "So... are you changing your mind? Or do you need more time to think about it? We can wait as long as you--"

"No," decided the queen with another sigh. The former queen. "I'm already tired of the mud here, and I... guess I wouldn't even know where to start against him. It's just time to... to go somewhere else, I suppose. Maybe start over."

"In Ivalice?" wondered Alma carefully. "I think a lot of people would recognize you."

Ovelia blinked at this, then made a sour face. "That's true. Ordalia, maybe, or Romanda. I've never been to either, though. At least the Ordalian language is similar to ours."

"It's closer, too," agreed Alma. "Geographically, I mean." A sudden idea struck her and she froze, thinking fiercely. "I... need to talk to Ramza," she decided vaguely, glancing off towards where her brother still sat near the edge of the pond. "I bought food for all of us, though, and new clothes for you." As she spoke, she dug the new garments out of her backpack. "For now, you can choose between priestess robes and... urchin clothes, I'd guess." At her friend's confused expression, she explained, gesturing at the shirt. "Well, green is a common enough color, and if you tied your hair up in a cap like this one, you'd look almost like a boy."

Silence stretched as they gazed at one another. Eventually, though, Ovelia chuckled, managing a weak smile. "That's not a very nice thing to say, Alma."

She grinned. "It's true. Probably true for me too."

Ovelia shook her head tiredly. "I'll wear the robes," she announced with a touch of wryness.

"Okay. Here." Handing the red-and-white garments to her friend, Alma stood. "I'll go make sure Ramza doesn't peek or anything. Come on over when... whenever you're ready." As the other woman nodded, she stood and trotted back through the trees towards her brother.

He stood as she approached, concern written across his face. "What happened?"

"She's changing," hissed Alma, grabbing his arm and steering him away, towards the edge of the glade. "Don't look. I convinced her to back off from Delita, though."

Ramza jerked in her grasp, twisting to face her as they walked. "Seriously? How?"

She eyed him guardedly. "I don't know what you said to her," she explained slowly, "but she seems to think she'd die if she tried to go after him."

He pondered that, features growing vaguely sorrowed. "I see," he sighed. "That... is sort of what we talked about. I should talk to her again." He shook his head, then fixed her with a new stare. "Did you get food? Clothes?"

"Yes to both," she replied crisply, releasing his arm in a little clearing between a trio of pine trees. "How could she be changing if I didn't get her clothes?"

"Right," he muttered. "Are they the right size?"

Alma smiled; she'd made fun of him for that the one time he bought clothes for her. "Of course. She's only a little bit smaller than me."

He nodded, staring off across the hills, towards the hidden city. "Yeah, I know," he agreed absently.

She blinked. "How?"

Hazel eyes darted back to hers, widening slightly. "So... what's she doing now, if she's not going to kill Delita?"

"Oh. Right." Alma frowned thoughtfully. "She mentioned starting over in Romanda or Ordalia, and I thought we'd invite her along with us. I mean, it's not really fair to drag her away from her life and then just leave her alone in Zeltennia with nothing to do."

"True," he acknowledged, brow furrowed. "Does she even want to do that?" he wondered quietly. "With us? Things have been... a little rough, so far."

"She and Delita just stabbed each other," noted Alma plainly. "I'd be a little upset too, in her place. Give it time."

He nodded uncertainly. "I suppose." His gaze flickered off towards the hills once more.

She eyed him, waiting. "So is that okay with you? The reason I came over here was to get your permission to invite her."

"My permission?" he echoed, startled. "Of course. Why in the world would I mind having her travel with us?"

Alma gazed up at him significantly out of the tops of her eyes. _Does he really not know?_ "She might stay with us for a while in Ordalia, if it takes her some time to figure things out. It wouldn't be... you know... just us."

Ramza stared back at her, growing visibly uneasy. "I know," he admitted quietly. "Are you okay with that?"

"It was my idea," she pointed out. "I'm willing if you are."

"Well, yeah," he shrugged after a moment. "Like you said, we can't just abandon her. She's a friend."

"I agree," she nodded. _Though I'm not sure it's a good idea. This all just sort of came out of nowhere._ Turning, she glanced behind them, quickly spotting Ovelia in her snowy new clerical robes, stepping delicately across the forest floor towards them. "She's ready."

Ramza turned as well, smiling uncertainly at the displaced queen. "That looks better than the dress," he observed. "In its... current condition, I mean."

Ovelia smiled also, though sadly. "How do I look?" she asked softly, approaching to within a few paces.

"Like a priestess," answered Alma. "The hood should be up, though," she realized, striding forward to pull the fold of white cloth onto her friend's head. "There."

"I suppose that's better than looking like a boy," decided Ovelia after a momentary pause.

Alma chuckled, ignoring the confusion on Ramza's face. "Maybe." She fell briefly silent, watching Ovelia pluck uncertainly at her new clothes. "We were just thinking. Do you want to come to Ordalia with us? We have that choco farm there, and there should be plenty of room for you if you wanted a place to... to relax, or whatever."

A thoughtful expression crossed Ovelia's face. "That might be nice," she decided simply. "I'd like that, but first..." Chewing a lip briefly, she turned to address Ramza, drawing herself upright. "Ramza, I'm sorry. I keep yelling at you. I don't know what's... why... I know you don't mean any harm."

He shook his head firmly, reaching forward to grip her shoulders firmly in a gesture Alma was familiar with; he'd done it often enough to her when he wanted to get some point across. "And I'm sorry I keep losing my patience. Usually I'm better at keeping it."

For a moment the two just blinked at one another. Then, as if by hidden signal, he released her shoulders jerkily and shuffled backwards; neither seemed able to look quite at the other.

Alma felt her brow wrinkle. _What's going on there, anyway? This is weird._ "Um... I have food," she recalled vaguely, patting her backpack. "Let's eat."

"And then we should get on the road," suggested Ramza, squinting skyward against the grey drizzle. "We should be able to reach Zarghidas before nightfall. That is... if we're decided," he added, eyeing Ovelia sideways.

She nodded at the ground. "Where is my knife?"

"Ramza has it, I think," answered Alma, glancing at her brother, who nodded in confirmation. "Oh, and I got a sheath for it in the city." Reaching into her cloak, she untied the empty thing from her own belt and handed it to the other woman.

"Why?" wondered Ramza warily, bouncing the knife idly in his hand.

Ovelia turned a flat gaze on him, fingers wrapped absently around the sheath. "Because it's mine."

"Oh, good point," he muttered, handing it to her handle-first. "Sorry."

She shrugged, slipping the blade into the sheath before fumbling to affix it to her belt loop. "The food?" she prompted.

"Right," breathed Alma, shrugging out of her backpack and rummaging through it. Sharing a wordless glance with Ramza, she set to sorting and distributing what she'd bought. While Ovelia began eating the apple she was given, and Ramza the strips of meat, Alma herself started with the pastry, a fluffy thing glazed with cinnamon; the aroma had been teasing her for almost two hours now.

Once they'd finished, Ramza bent to pull his raincloak out of his own pack. "Let's go," he suggested. "Ovelia, do you mind riding on Heppoko with Alma?"

"That's fine," agreed the former queen mildly.

"You might want to dye your hair, too, when we get to Zarghidas," suggested Alma. "It'll wash out in a few days, if you're worried about it."

"I can do that," shrugged Ovelia.

Again Alma shared a glance with her brother, but he quickly nodded. "Let's get the chocos ready and go."


	5. Chapter 5: Losing Sleep

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Five: Losing Sleep

It rained steadily as they traveled, colorless streaks of liquid angling down from the featureless grey sky, making a mess of the road. Chocobo claws squished and slopped in the mud, and the birds themselves warked unhappily from time to time; they didn't get wet, not like creatures with fur would, but the mud slowed them down all the same. Thunder rumbled occasionally within the cloudy blanket above, a testament to hidden lightnings.

Ramza rode alone, letting the women stay together on Heppoko. He hoped to find another mount for Ovelia once they reached Zarghidas, the better part of a day away, even mounted, but Alma's bird was faring well enough. Which, he reflected, made sense; the two women together likely weighed little more than he himself did, with armor and weapons included. About the only thing lacking was a saddle for the former queen; she would be sore tomorrow, but going back to Zeltennia to get one would have prevented them from reaching Zarghidas before nightfall.

Shaking his head faintly at the patched-together nature of their travel, he gazed off seaward for a moment, watching white-capped grey swells launch themselves with rhythmic determination against the rocky coast some forty paces away. A chill breeze drove the waves, strong enough to flap his cloak around when it swirled oddly, to twist Ovelia's unbound hair into a golden tangle even with the hood protecting it. Stronger gusts bent sparse trees, blustering through leaves, but there wasn't much in the way of vegetation larger than bushes; the rocky soil was too poor to support it, leaving the area strangely barren for someplace so important, a trade route between two notable cities. If not for the poor cover, he supposed, there would be far more brigands around. And if not for Delita.

The sound of speech on his other side drew his attention and he glanced that way, finding the two women engaged in quiet conversation. The combined noise of the rain, the waves and the wind would not allow him to make out words, only snatches of voice now and then. Likely it was difficult for them to hear as well, he realized, with Ovelia leaning over Alma's shoulder to speak. Whatever she said, it must have been a question, for Alma nodded and Ovelia settled back.

Wiping rainwater from his face, Ramza returned his gaze to the road. Not for the first time, he wondered why he simply didn't buy a hat, but whenever he was in a city and it wasn't raining, he never thought of it. Idly rolling his shoulders, ignoring the cold liquid leaking down his back at the motion, he reminded himself to enjoy the weather while it lasted; while he was accustomed to traveling in sun-baked dust, it lacked the charm of the rain. Another report of thunder sounded overhead, a fitful rumbling.

Again something tickled his awareness from the side and he glanced at the women, only to see Ovelia watching him flatly, her face pale as a sheet from the chill and about as informative. As soon as he made eye contact she shifted her gaze back ahead. Rain had slicked a lock of golden hair limply to the side of her face, but she made no move to brush it back.

Shifting his seat in the saddle, Ramza directed a frown at the road ahead. _What was that?_ he wondered. _Is she still mad at me for not helping her kill Delita?_ Guilt still swirled within every now and then from that, not because he now agreed with her reasoning, but because she'd asked him for help and he'd refused. It wasn't something he was accustomed to.

As he shook his head helplessly, a dark shape began to emerge from the rain far ahead on the road. A wagon, he supposed; there were plenty along this road, though today the rain might have kept the more skittish merchants indoors.

With nothing else to do as he rode, he watched the thing approach, drawn by a pair of golden chocos. The merchant, a sour-faced fat man in folds of green wool, made no effort to acknowledge Ramza or the women, though two guards, on foot beside the wagon, each lifted a hand in greeting. Ramza smiled briefly in response.

All too soon, the wagon was rumbling into the rainy distance behind him and he shifted his gaze back to the winding ribbon of mud that served as the road. The wind swirled again, driving stinging raindrops into his face, his eyes; with a grimace he glanced away, back towards the women. They were doing likewise, he saw, averting their gazes from the assaulting elements. Ovelia's robe, so pure and snowy this morning, now looked as though someone had rolled it in the mud. Limp golden locks hung soddenly from out of her hood.

Smiling faintly despite himself, Ramza shifted his seat in the saddle, adjusted his grip on Boco's reins. As the wind dwindled, he found himself staring off towards the sea once more, across the frothing waves. It still struck him as vaguely strange to have Ovelia accompanying them to Ordalia. Strange like something out of a dream, where people would show up in times and places they did not belong, and it only seemed odd after the fact, after waking. _I dreamt I went to Ordalia, and you were there._

Shaking his head, he brushed hair out of his face, sighing at the vague swirls of dusty grey left on his gloves afterwards, barely visible. Much more of this, he reflected, and the dye would wash out. That would certainly present some questions once they reached Zarghidas. _We'll have to do something about that. Maybe it'll be dark enough not to matter._ Chewing a lip, he put his worries aside for the moment. Alma would likely have a suggestion in any case.

The rain continued without change as they threaded along the rock-studden shoreline, following the road. Occasional merchants or travelers passed in the other direction, most as glum as the first fellow had been. Ramza smiled at them all in any case.

Perhaps two hours later, he shifted Boco sideways, delivering an absent backhanded slap to Alma's thigh. "Want to stop?" he asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the weather. "I'm hungry, and it's about midday."

She blinked away a bored vagueness, then smiled. "Oh. Yes, that's a good idea."

Ramza returned the smile, though shortly his eyes slid towards Ovelia, who was again watching him without expression, brown eyes wide and unreadable. She said nothing, didn't twitch a muscle in her face, but somehow he found himself reminded of his familiar treatment of his sister just now. Too familiar, perhaps? _If I did that to Ovelia,_ he supposed idly, _instead of just hugging her, I'd have been lucky to walk away with just a scolding._ The thought twisted his lips in an uncomfortable grimace.

Ovelia's eyes tightened almost imperceptibly and she tore her gaze away. "I'm... hungry too," she added softly, speaking to no one in particular, looking at no one.

Nodding briskly, Ramza tugged the reins, halting Boco, then slipped to the ground. Mud squelched under his boots, and he took a moment to stretch tired muscles before tugging off his gloves and digging into the saddlebags. Rain ran down his face, trickled through his clothes, but at this point it couldn't make him any wetter. "We may want to think about re-dying our hair," he added, sparing a glance at Alma.

"I know," she answered absently, rummaging around in her own bags. "We'll do that later in the day, I think. Before Zarghidas."

He nodded again, producing a handful of nuts from his bag; Alma had split the food up earlier. Stepping to where Alma stood unwrapping some fruits and Ovelia nursed stiff muscles, he plucked an almond from his own hand and held the rest out to the others. Each woman grabbed a few, Ovelia eyeing him sideways, Alma smiling, but both made certain not to touch his hand.

Sighing, Ramza pulled out a belt knife to crack a shell. _I hope the whole journey isn't like this._

"How long until we reach Zarghidas?" wondered Ovelia softly, staring off through the rain. Thunder growled somewhere distant, a murky rumble.

"A little after nightfall," answered Ramza absently, accepting an apple from Alma without making eye contact. "Maybe an hour after, if we make good time."

"Okay."

She said nothing more, and as Ramza ate he kept his silence as well. Alma glanced between them once but chose not to say anything, though her brow knitted in thought, suggesting some comment on the tip of her tongue. Somehow this made conversation conspicuous in its absence, a palpable void.

When everyone finished their makeshift meal, it was almost a relief to climb back into the saddle. "Let's keep going," he suggested. "I hope you're not getting too sore, Ovelia."

The former queen offered a weak smile. "I'll make do."

* * *

When they finally ducked into the stables of an inn in Zarghidas, Alma couldn't help but grin happily. She was not as hardened to traveling as Ramza was, not able to shrug off the rain as though it were mere fog, but she pretended otherwise for his benefit. And perhaps for Ovelia's, though in truth she was not certain how much the displaced monarch even noticed the weather, lost in thought as she'd been for most of the day. 

Lips twisting, Alma put her mind to other concerns, glancing around the stables. It was warm inside, she noted, though perhaps that was simply from the lack of wind and rain; cheerful illumination from a pair of bronze oil lamps made it seem even warmer. A half-dozen other yellow chocobos and one black one were already set up, most preening themselves or sleeping. A slim stableboy sat leaning against the wall near the door, expertly juggling a trio of daggers. Alma smiled again at the sight.

Wasting little time, Ramza hopped from the still-moving Boco and engaged the young man in a brief conversation, giving her and Ovelia time to dismount unwatched. It was hardly necessary, with Ovelia no longer invisible, but she supposed the less attention people paid her, the better off they'd be. "Are you ready?" she murmured, glancing back over her shoulder.

The other woman nodded faintly, eyes distant as she watched Ramza. Her hair, now a raven-black, looked oddly out-of-place framing such a pale face. "I'm... pretty sore," she admitted.

Alma smiled ruefully. "We'll get you a saddle before we leave tomorrow. And your own choco, I would think." Tugging gloves from her hands, she slipped to the packed-dirt floor, then helped Ovelia down as well.

"That would be nice," mused her friend absently. One hand drifted up to finger the hilt of the knife at her waist.

"Yeah." Eyeing the woman briefly, Alma shook her head and tended to Heppoko, ruffling her head feathers affectionately before unbuckling the saddle. Cold rainwater dripped into the dirt all around from her hands, her clothes.

Soon Ramza finished arranging matters with the stableboy, and the three of them shuffled into the inn proper. The common room was as noisy as she'd grown to expect, full of half-drunk squires singing battle songs out-of-key and a handful of local craftsmen chuckling at them. Ramza threaded through the patrons carefully, murmuring sincere apologies whenever he jostled anyone, though Alma doubted anyone even noticed.

In moments they reached the bar, behind which stood a muscled fellow wiping its wooden surface down with a pale cloth. He nodded as they approached, then visibly examined the party. "All the way from Riovanes, eh?" he guessed. "Whatcha need?"

Ramza smiled uncertainly; their new hair color had inspired some strange guesses as to their lands of origin. "Warm baths for all of us," he answered. "And..."

"Two rooms," interrupted Alma, meeting her brother's gaze rather than the innkeeper's. Ramza preferred one, usually, both for the price and the closeness, but with Ovelia present it was no longer an option. _Please understand. Please don't make a big deal out of..._

"Definitely," he agreed, nodding and frowning as though it had been too obvious to mention. Dismissing Alma, he returned his attention back to the inkeep. "Baths, rooms and... food, I'd think. Warm food."

The other man nodded. "Right. Rooms are upstairs, third and fourth down the hall on the right. The baths ought to be ready shortly, and as for the food, we..."

Alma tuned the man out, still frowning at Ramza, vaguely angry that he'd agreed so quickly. After a moment she gave her head a shake and turned to Ovelia, who was staring warily at the mass of singing people in the middle of the floor. _I wonder if she's ever been in an inn before._ "Anastasia," she began, using the false name Ovelia had chosen for herself when they'd dyed her hair just an hour before, "let's find an empty table, shall we?"

The former queen blinked, then shifted a blank gaze to her before finally smiling. "Yes. Let's."

Grabbing Ovelia's hand, Alma took the lead, elbowing people aside where necessary. Shortly she spotted an empty table in one corner and made towards it, throwing herself wearily into a sturdy ladder-back chair. Ovelia claimed the chair next to hers somewhat more delicately. Rainwater still dripped occasionally to the floor from each of them.

"I hope the urchin garments you got me are still dry," sighed Ovelia softly, her voice barely audible over the rowdy singing men not ten paces away.

Alma raised her eyebrows. "I thought you didn't want to wear those."

Ovelia plucked sadly at her sodden priestess robes. "These are wet. And heavy, now."

"Well, you won't have to be in them for long," reassured Alma. Ovelia eyed her oddly for some reason.

The reappearance of Ramza preempted further conversation. Smiling encouragingly, perhaps hoping to take the edge off a day in the rain, he deposited a trio of mugs on the table. Then he hesitated, smile fading as he visibly took in the remaining two chairs, deciding whom to sit next to. Or not to sit next to. After a moment he settled into the chair next to Alma.

"Anastasia, I... didn't know what you wanted to drink," he admitted, staring across the table. "I got wine for you, but if you want the milk instead I can drink it."

Alma grabbed a mug of milk and hid a smile in it as she drank. Ramza hated wine. Said it always tasted like vinegar.

"Wine is fine," shrugged Ovelia, reaching for it. Pale liquid rippled within just below the top of the mug, an impressive quantity for someone like Ovelia, but knowing Ramza it had already been watered.

He smiled, clearly relieved. When Ovelia failed to smile back, his expression soured, and he busied himself with his own beverage.

Soon a full-busomed serving girl showed up bearing three bowls of something steaming. "Evening," she greeted brightly, placing one in front of each person at the table. "Stew, stew, and... stew. Enjoy." As she turned to leave, however, her gaze caught on Ramza and she paused, grinning. "You're the one with the milk," she realized; her laugh carried an unkind edge. "A warrior? Never thought I'd..."

For some reason she trailed off, smile fading as she met Ramza's gaze. As the silence stretched, he fidgeted uncomforably.

After a moment she colored faintly, dipping her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning to hurry off.

Ovelia hesitated, mug to her lips, then lowered it to speak. "R... Dietrich? What was that?"

"It's... I don't know," he sighed at the tabletop. "It's nothing."

_His eyes again,_ realized Alma, poking idly at her stew. It bristled with meat and vegetables, and looked too hot to eat yet. _People see them, and just... know, sometimes._

After a day of traveling, they spent little effort on idle conversation while eating. Eventually Alma emptied her bowl and made her way to the washrooms, where another girl showed her to the bath they'd drawn. It proved hot and rather relaxing after a few days of roughing it, and she remained there for some time. Ovelia showed up as well, but seemed distracted, responding only vaguely to Alma's attempts at conversation.

Once the bathwater cooled, they made their way upstairs to the room Ramza had not already claimed. It was a simple thing, two narrow beds and a chest in which to store clothes, but it was more than Alma required. And perhaps, she reflected, less than what Ovelia was used to. Her friend made no comment on the accomodations, however.

Rooting through her belongings, Alma managed to find a dry shift packed at the bottom of a bag, then quickly changed into it. As she sat on the edge of one of the beds, hairbrush in hand, she opened her mouth to make a joke about the dye. Something caught her eye, though, something... wrong.

Ovelia was standing in the center of the room, liquid brown eyes staring blankly through one of the walls. She hadn't moved at all since entering the room, Alma realized belatedly, hadn't spoken a word. The only thing distinguishing her from a statue was the motion of the fingers of her right hand, touching the knife. No, _caressing_ it.

Alma swallowed. "Ovelia?" she asked quietly. "Are... are you okay?"

The other woman shifted slightly, frowning at her for long moments. Finally she smiled, a sunny, apologetic smile. "Oh, yes. I'm fine." Her hand sprang away from the knife, writhing for a moment at her side before falling still.

Alma nodded doubtfully. "If you need to talk, or anything, I'm all ears."

Ovelia shook her head almost shyly, eyes lowering to the floor. "There's no need. Thank you for asking, though."

_Fair enough._ Alma nodded again, unwilling to press further. "Well, anyway. I was about to ask how long you figured it was going to be before someone notices that our eyebrows don't match our hair. Twenty gil says it's a woman, not a man. In fact..."

Alma let herself continue, chatting aimlessly to fill the silence as much as to give Ovelia something silly to think about, in place of whatever worries gripped her. The former queen smiled often, even laughed softly in the appropriate places, but her attention was clearly elsewhere, her eyes remaining distant, her smiles coming too late and lasting too long.

Eventually Alma gave up and climbed under the sheets, watching briefly as Ovelia snuffed the single lamp in the room and fumbled her way into her own bed. Muted noise from the common room still filtered up through the floor, but in a way it was a comforting sound, something to keep the heavy silence at bay, to hide the sounds of her uneven breathing in the long moments before slumber finally took her.

* * *

The whisper of rustling cloth slowly tugged Ovelia from the grasping fingers of a cold and frantic dream. Without opening her eyes she simply lay in place, unmoving, listening to the soft noises as the fog of slumber gradually lifted from her mind. The sound rose and fell from time to time, punctuated by occasional wooden creaks, almost too quiet to hear, as of light feet shifting on a floor. Dressing. Someone was dressing. _Alma. Right._

Suppressing a sigh, she remained still, an easy task given the monumental effort seemingly required to lift an arm or turn her head. In moments soft footsteps approached the door, and the latch clicked open.

"Dietrich?" came Alma's hushed voice. A murmured conversation followed, too low for Ovelia to pick out the words, but shortly the door clicked shut again and silence reigned in the room.

In the stillness she found herself simply... existing. Listening to the faintest whisper of Alma's belongings settling back into place. Feeling the liquid flow of air into and out of her lungs. _Existing. This is all I'm good for, now._

Eventually the weight of the blankets atop her, and the sweaty heat they trapped, forced a tight sigh out of her. Throwing the covers aside, she swung her legs around, resting bare toes against the smooth planks of the floor. Unbound hair, now a flat coal-black, hung in disarray towards her thighs. Though it seemed vain, she'd always enjoyed the color it had been before, a luscious, almost glossy gold. She understood the need for anonymity, had in fact reminded Alma to dye it the night before, but now it served only to drive home the aimless desperation of her current straits. A week ago she'd been warm, secure and pregnant. Now she found herself living under an assumed name, hair dyed, thighs throbbing, clothes probably still wet from the day before and covered in mud besides, traveling with friends who probably did not want her along and sleeping in a place full of drunks and which, for whatever reason, smelled faintly of garlic.

As she sat, Ovelia let her eyes slide shut. The old tales always made living on the run from an evil king sound adventurous and proud, but all she felt was... tired, she decided. Spent.

Long moments later she opened her eyes again, expending the effort to stand upright. Sore leg muscles protested at the weight but did not dump her on the floor, so she made for the bag containing her few belongings, all courtesy of Ramza and Alma. A small brush, a plain mirror which she'd already cracked. A rumpled ball of green and brown wool, the urchin clothes Alma had purchased.

After a moment's thought Ovelia pulled the clothes out, inspecting them cautiously in the dim light. They looked comfortable, she admitted grudgingly, rather more suited to riding than a dress or robe, but she'd never worn anything but a dress. Wearing pants, clothes that followed the lines of her hips and legs, just seemed... scandalous. Other women did it, she knew, probably many other women, but she had no wish for what would feel like glowing arrows pointing men's eyes at her curves. Certainly not in a city full of strangers.

_Who am I kidding?_ she sighed, folding the clothes gently back into the sack. _I can't show up here looking like a priest and then leave looking like a guttersnipe._ Shaking her head, she stepped to the hook on which she'd hung the priest robe the previous night. The garment was indeed still wet, and was now cold besides. Cold and heavy, she discovered, as she lifted the thing and shrugged into it.

Still hanging on the unbuckled belt was the knife. For a moment she frowned at its gentle silent weight on her hip, then gripped the handle, steel and leather cool under her fingers. The sensations brought to mind a flutter of memory, a fragment of dream from the night before.

_...tackling his running legs, she sent them both crashing to the marble floor. He grunted something, perhaps in surprise, perhaps pain, but she reached up, clawing for grip on his shirt, using it to pull herself along his body. Once in place she snarled, using her other hand to drive the dagger for half its length into his unguarded back._

_He screamed now, thrashing under her, but she held onto the weapon with both hands, teeth gritting as she threw herself into it, driving the blade deeper into his back. Metallic warmth coated her hands, her chest, almost making her gag from the sheer choking strength of the smell, but she ignored it; compared to the rivers of blood he'd spilled, this was but a trickle, hardly worth worrying over..._

Time slid past in the solitude of the inn room. Gradually the chill of her sodden robe faded as her body heat warmed up the water still in the fabric, but her hand did not stray from the knife. Despite staring at the tool -- no, the weapon -- it took a moment to realize she was stroking it, rubbing her thumb absently across the end of the handle, a fond caress.

_Why am I even carrying this, still?_ she wondered absently, gaze still fixed on the metal beneath her moving thumb. _Ramza's right that trying to kill him is suicide, and Alma's right that even succeeding would give me problems I couldn't handle. It's silly. I... I don't need it anymore. Do I?_

Unable to move, she frowned at the knife a moment longer, then gave her head a shake and rummaged around in her things, removing her hand from the weapon only when she needed it to grab the brush instead. A few moments brought her hair to a semblance of presentability; she had expected a few tangles from the wind yesterday but it must not have been as bad as she'd imagined.

Once ready, she assembled her few belongings, slinging the sack over a shoulder, and pulled the door open. After shuffling a few steps, however, she stopped.

Ramza was there, lounging against the hallway wall near the door, arms folded over his chest. He smiled in greeting, hazel eyes meeting hers seriously despite his sunny expression. "Morning."

Ovelia frowned at him in curiosity. _Was he waiting here? I shouldn't have dallied so long in the room._ Uncertain what to say, she remained still for a moment, studying his eyes, his face. _He looks tired. Even more tired than me._ "Did... you sleep well?" she asked softly.

He blinked, perhaps surprised at the question, and his grin became guarded. "Of course. It was a good night."

_He's lying._ Ovelia had no idea how she knew, but she was certain. Ramza was a much worse liar than Delita. _He's lying. He didn't sleep at all, did he?_ Feeling her frown deepen, she scrutinized his expression, searching for more information.

Shortly his smile slipped and he tore his gaze away. "Emerald's gone to get a chocobo for you," he explained, gesturing vaguely down the hallway, towards the stairs. "We can get some breakfast, if you want."

Nodding slightly, Ovelia turned, letting herself be directed towards the common room. The space proved to be far less crowded than the night before, with only about half the tables boasting any patrons at all; the sparse crowd gave rise to a low murmur of conversation. Grey morning light angling in through the windows left the room muted but comfortable.

No one paid them a second glance as she and Ramza stepped to a table in the corner, the one they'd eaten at last night. She watched him surreptitiously as they claimed chairs, and was rewarded with a weary sigh as he dropped himself into his; he took a moment afterwards to bend and rub his legs with a grimace, confirming her suspicions. _He didn't sleep at all, and was standing besides. Guarding our room? That was silly. He didn't need to do that._ Perhaps sensing her gaze, he glanced up, hands pausing on his calf, offering a smile of reassurance.

A sudden blurring in her vision prompted her to glance away and swallow. It still crept up on her at times, the gut-punch sorrow, bringing tears, and would probably do so for some time, she imagined. _He must think I'm fragile as glass,_ she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. _And maybe he's right. Anyway, Delita never would have done that._

"Anastasia?" he prompted quietly.

"What?" she whispered. _Great. He's going to ask me about this, and then I either have to lie about it, or..._

"Our food's here."

"You... oh." Swallowing again, she cracked eyes open to examine Ramza, but he was already digging into a bowl of porridge, ignoring her completely. Beyond him, a skinny serving girl was making her way back towards the kitchens.

Chuckling at her own silliness, Ovelia wiped at her eyes under the guise of rubbing her temples, then tried the soupy liquid herself. It proved warm but rather bland, a disappointment; during the last two months she had surprised even herself by acquiring a taste for spicy foods. Even so, the meal settled her stomach in satisfactory fashion.

Some time later, the door to the stable swung inward to admit Alma. Quickly she spotted their table and, smiling, trotted over to seat herself. "It's still raining," she declared, wiping water from her face, "but not as hard as yesterday."

"Oh, good," murmured Ramza, pushing his empty bowl a short distance away along the tabletop. "That'll make traveling easier."

"I know," grinned Alma, pausing to murmur thanks as the same serving girl reappeared with porridge for her. "How is the stuff here?" she wondered, gesturing at the bowl with her spoon.

Ramza shrugged. "Not bad. A little boring for your tastes, though. You might want to spice it."

"Good to know," she answered absently, digging briefly into a pouch to produce a pinch of dark powder that looked to be cinnamon. Ramza watched her with a faint smile he seemed unaware of wearing.

_They're just like an old married couple,_ realized Ovelia distantly, watching the pair with fascination. _I wonder if they even know that._ Alma stirred the spice into her porridge and tasted it, smiling a gesture of thanks at Ramza, who chuckled.

As the silence stretched, however, both sibling paused before shifting their attention to Ovelia, identical hazel-eyed gazes regarding her blankly, somehow driving home the fact that the bond they shared excluded her. Lips tightening, she lowered her gaze to the tabletop. "Did you get a chocobo for me?" Her voice came out weaker than she'd intended, almost a whisper; it was hard to put much effort into speaking these days.

"I did," answered Alma, sounding almost guarded. "A yellow one. He's called Proteus, and he seems pretty mild-tempered."

Ovelia nodded, toying with the spoon and her empty bowl. "Saddle?" she prompted. "Harness? All of that?"

"I got it," assured Alma. "Don't worry."

She nodded again, chewing a lip, waiting the moment it took Alma to give up on the conversation and resume eating her porridge. _They bought a choco for me,_ she sighed. _They're going through all this trouble. I shouldn't have imposed myself so much on their charity... but there was nothing else to do, was there? Not if I wanted to stay alive._

Eventually Alma finished eating. Quickly gathering their remaining things, they made for the door, pausing momentarily as Ramza paid the innkeeper for their meals.

The smell of birds and mud greeted Ovelia as they stepped out into the stables. A dark-haired young stableboy -- not the same as the fellow from last night -- leapt up from his chair to help get the mounts ready at their appearance. Proteus, it seemed, was already prepared, having been saddled by the seller just moments before.

While the others prepared, Ovelia stood in the hay and faced her new bird; Proteus stared back at her, blinking slowly. The choco's feathers boasted a few faded lines from healed wounds, and his left eye would not open quite as far as the right. An old bird, then, having seen his share of battles. _Like me, sort of._ The animal purred a low chirp of greeting, and she shuffled forward to scratch his head, smiling faintly.

"Anastasia," called Alma suddenly. "One more thing."

Turning, Ovelia regarded her friend, then reacted quickly to catch a thrown cloak that billowed halfheartedly open in midair. It was grey, she saw, nice solid wool and oiled besides, to repel the rain. "Thank you," she acknowledged quietly, glancing back up.

Alma flashed a brief smile, then returned to her travel preparations, affixing saddlebags to Heppoko and so on. Throwing the cloak over her own shoulders, Ovelia climbed atop Proteus and waited.

In moments they were moving, out into the rain and the muddy streets. With the cloak, the weather seemed less oppressive than it had the day before, though perhaps it simply _was_ better, as Alma had mentioned earlier. Ovelia rode beside Alma while Ramza followed behind them, everyone taking their ease through the crowded city streets.

The guards at the city's eastern gate barely glanced at them as they left, and Ovelia found herself sitting a little straighter in the saddle after that. They weren't out of Ivalice, and wouldn't be for a day or so yet, but Zarghidas was the last major city before the Ordalian border. If Delita had been planning to reclaim her, it would have been easiest for him to do so before she'd left. _But now I'm gone. He won't find me now._

Traffic along the road, she quickly noticed, was much more sparse than it had been between Zeltennia and Zarghidas; she saw just a single merchant's wagon in the first hour, and only a handful of locals, probably farmers. Through a light, angling rain, they traveled quickly, pausing only briefly for a lunch of salted meat and some pastries that Alma had picked up; she seemed rather fond of them.

The rain cleared up in midafternoon, leaving only pale grey clouds slowly breaking apart overhead. By dusk it was largely clear, though, as she quickly noticed on dismounting in the hilltop campsite Ramza had chosen, the ground was still quite wet. By the grim twist of Alma's lips, she had resigned herself to sleeping another night in the damp, though Ramza seemed not to care. Or even to notice, she realized on further observation; her rescuer's eyes stared blankly, almost haggardly, out over the shadow-cloaked plains. Boco's reins hung forgotten in one gloved hand.

_He's almost falling asleep where he stands,_ decided Ovelia, frowning at him from where she stood feeding Proteus. _He'd better not stay up all night again._ Giving Proteus an absent ruffle, she stepped carefully to where Ramza stood.

He blinked at her in reponse for a moment before seeming to snap out of whatever trance gripped him. "Oh, hi," he murmured, turning back to Boco and unbuckling the saddle straps. "I'm just, uh... I was just thinking."

Ovelia nodded, aware of Alma's eyes on them from across the campsite. "Do you want me to see to any of this? I can do it."

His eyes widened dramatically in surprise. "You...? Why? No, it's nothing."

"You just look tired," she admitted. _Exhausted, more like._

Ramza shook his head firmly. "Don't worry about it," he implored. "I'm just taking care of this stuff before I hit my blankets. Alma is going to take first watch tonight."

"Okay," she conceded, dipping her head slightly. Without another word she turned and made for Alma, the priest robe fluffing through knee-high grass with every step.

"Hello," greeted the other Beoulve mildly, packing her raincloak away. "How are you feeling after riding all day?"

Frowning, Ovelia ignored the question. "Are you planning to stay up all night so Ramza can sleep?"

Alma froze, hands pausing on the lips of her saddlebag, then slowly turned to face Ovelia. "You know about that?" she wondered quietly, wide eyes thoughtful and perhaps a little wary.

"How could I miss it?" countered Ovelia flatly. "Ramza's ready to fall over. I could see it right away this morning, too." _Did they really think I wouldn't know?_

Alma sighed but nodded. "That was my plan, then. I didn't know he was going to do that last night, but afterwards he said he... said he didn't trust people enough to leave you unguarded during the night in a city." She spoke softly, eyes on her hands.

_Me, again._ "If it had just been the two of you," reasoned Ovelia, "he wouldn't have bothered, because you'd have been in the same room anyway."

"That's right," confirmed the other woman uncomfortably.

Ovelia scowled at nothing. _Why did they think they could hide this from me?_ Abruptly realizing she was wringing her hands, she stopped. "Then let me do it instead. It's because of me that all this is happening, anyway."

"Don't be silly," scolded Alma. "You've had enough to worry about. Let us deal with it."

Irritation bubbled up inside in place of the gratitude those words would usually have inspired. "I'm hardly a child anymore, Alma," she countered tightly, folding arms across her chest. "I'm not going to let you watch over me when I could be doing something to help." _Especially not after you tried to hide it from me._

"That doesn't make any sense," frowned Alma. "If you stay up all night, then you'll be tired tomorrow and we _will_ be taking care of you."

Ovelia shrugged her shoulders angrily. _This is silly._ "Well, whatever. At least let me stay up half the night, then."

"Fine." Alma scowled a moment longer, then chuckled humorlessly. "That's fine. I'm sorry."

"I'll take the first watch," offered Ovelia curtly after a moment. When Alma merely nodded, she rolled her shoulders once more, then returned to Proteus and her own belongings. Even to her eyes, her motions seemed too abrupt, too cold, yanking folded leather to open bags, tugging cords to close them again. In moments she'd packed away her gloves and eaten quickly -- Alma had divided up food earlier -- and thus stood holding her brush in one hand, with the other on the dagger.

_It's all because of me,_ she reminded herself, glaring at nothing. _And even I'm here because of him. It all comes back to him, doesn't it? He ruined everything._ Steel pressed coldly against her fingers, the leather assuring a firm grip, the handle just the right size for her hand. In her mind she could see his eyes staring back at her, dark and narrowed, confident and controlling. _He ruined everything. I hate him so..._

Fingers touched her shoulder gingerly. "Ovelia?"

Despite herself she squeaked, then whirled to glare at Ramza; he shouted as well, staggering backwards, eyes wide, obviously as startled as she was. After a moment she slumped, finally lowering hands from her open mouth. "Ramza, you... scared me." Her heart raced in her ribcage, a fluid roar in her ears.

"Sorry," he answered, somewhat breathlessly, offering a short bow. "Are you...?" He trailed off, scanning her face, before dropping his gaze and shifting his feet. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the Ordalian border is only a couple of hours away from here, and the choco farm is maybe a day and a half farther still. In the Rundelle province. It... occurred to me that no one had told you exactly where we were going," he explained, lifting his eyes and offering a smile he likely meant to be reassuring.

For some reason she found herself smiling back, even giggling at the silliness of being scared by Ramza. "I didn't know that," she agreed. "Thank you."

He smiled a moment longer, then cleared his throat and slipped away towards Alma, who, Ovelia realized, was studying her with an intent frown. She returned it, confused, but Alma merely tossed her head and grinned at her approaching brother. Crickets chirped somewhere in the clammy dimness.

Shifting her attention back to Ramza, Ovelia watched him, watched his body language. He and Alma clearly cared for one another, but they met each other's gaze only occasionally, and their goodnight hug was a trifle stiff for siblings. _He treats her like he treats me,_ she realized, _only with a little more familiarity._

The others shortly parted as each sought their own blankets, Ramza sparing another quick smile as he passed. _He's so mild,_ she reflected, watching him settle in for the night. _Totally unlike Delita, at least in that respect. It's hard to imagine anyone being afraid of him._ People were, though, she knew.

She'd hoped to use that fear, once. Use him, in truth. He was a heretic, they claimed, a hardened guerrilla willing to kill anyone or anything in his way. Cardinals, they said. Heresy examiners. Hokuten and Nanten soldiers alike. Generals and Shrine Knights. His own brothers, supposedly. She'd meant every word when she'd asked him to help her put down unrest after killing Delita; if he'd wanted to help, as a general or... in whatever capacity, she'd have let him.

His refusal, she mused, was in some ways still a surprise. Alma's unwillingness to help was perhaps to be expected, but Ramza was by all accounts a very capable individual with a taste for foolhardy heroics. Displacing a tyrant, she had thought, would appeal to him. But then, she reflected, he disliked dabbling in politics, and a civil war would have been more than mere dabbling. Ultimately, however, outrage had not swayed him; instead he'd had the novel idea that he'd be helping her more by _not_ helping.

And he'd been right, of course. If she'd tried her hand against Delita she'd have messed it up like everything else, would have wound up with a sword in her chest in some out-of-the-way corner of the Castle. Silently she made a point to listen to his advice more often; he had greater foresight than his hapless demeanor suggested.

_I'm... supposed to be on watch,_ she reminded herself with a sigh, glancing ruefully down at her person and recalling with a blink that she still held the brush. Absently beginning to pull it through her dyed hair, she strolled to the edge of the camp and frowned down at the world below the hilltop. Moonlight painted tree and valley in ghostly silver hues, left sparkling diamond points on the sea far to the northwest. Even the road, a short distance away, was only visible by the lack of grass growing on it. One could easily believe the world an empty place from here, she decided; the thought was somehow both pleasing and worrying.

Once finished with the brush, she tucked it back among her things, then set herself to watching for threats to the party. Fatigue beckoned, but she resisted it, instead doing her best to keep a sharp eye on the landscape, to resist the urge to think about the man who'd ruined everything.

The next day, Ramza woke her in the still grey pre-dawn. By his stony face, he was as tired as she was, and he said nothing as he rose to his feet and shuffled off to his things. Rustling grass on the other side of the camp spoke to Alma preparing for the day's ride.

On leaden limbs Ovelia pushed herself up to her feet and glanced around. Past the border of her cloak spread on the ground, stalks of golden grass stood motionless, beaded with dew. Beyond, below the hill on which they camped, a feathery mist coated the rolling landscape. Somewhere unseen in the twilight dimness, a hunting bird called, its cry echoing in the lonely expanse.

Sighing slowly, Ovelia retrieved her cloak from the ground, briefly shaking the thing to dry it. Her body moved slowly, almost mechanically as she proceeded to tidy herself up, not that there was much to do; a quick pass with the brush to take the knots out of her hair, a wipe with a damp cloth to clean any dirt from her face. Ramza and Alma did likewise with a minimum of fanfare, the efficiency of their movements naming them veterans of cross-country travel.

In moments, after breaking her fast on strips of salted beef, she climbed atop Proteus and they set off. Despite only a day's experience, she soon understood how easy it was to fall into a rhythm; she fell in beside Alma as she had the day before, allowing Ramza to keep a watchful eye on them both, and with everyone tired, conversation grew infrequent enough to force one's concentration onto making good time.

By two hours past dawn, she estimated, the fog had cleared. An hour after that, she found herself suddenly in Ordalia.

She drew rein at the border, her vague interest sharpened by the fact that she'd never see it again. It was a simple enough affair, just two wooden posts, one on each side of the road; each sported a hand-sized emblem, a stylized golden dragon on black. The same device would grace Ordalia's banner, once they saw one.

Twisting in her saddle, Ovelia glanced behind their group on the road, then ahead, but saw nobody. The place seemed too... empty to be a border, somehow. Delita had made plans to place a fort near here, or at least a post for patrols, but the gil and the men had been needed elsewhere first.

Ramza eyed her, smiling faintly. "Strange, isn't it?" he murmured.

Ovelia nodded, returning to stare at the border posts. A gentle wind rippled the red-toothed hem of her robe.

"Where is everyone?" wondered Alma quietly, peering across the border.

"There's no need to be here," explained Ramza. "It makes no sense to have taxes and tariffs here, since anyone can ride a mile or two off the road and cross the border away from the law. Most trade into Zarghidas comes by ship in any case."

Alma nodded faintly. "What about soldiers?"

He shrugged. "Ivalice has... more important things to worry about," he answered, "and Ordalia does have a fort a few miles in from here."

Silence stretched but for the low rustle of the wind. Ovelia swept her gaze across the landscape once more, committing to memory her last view of Ivalice's rolling hills and scattered greening vegetation... though after a moment she realized Ordalia looked much the same. "If not for the posts," she noted softly, "you'd never know."

A corner of Ramza's lips twitched in a smile, an expression echoed almost identically on Alma's face. Shortly, though, he shifted in his saddle. "Let's keep moving."

Without further delay Ovelia heeled Proteus forward and they were off again. She had expected to feel elated somehow on crossing the border, or at least relieved, but instead she experienced only a growing impatience to reach the Beoulves' chocobo farm. And even then, she reflected, nothing would change; she couldn't stay there forever. Alma and Ramza deserved the future they'd planned together, without her. _Maybe I'll... settle, I suppose. Learn the language better, maybe pick up a craft._

She shook her head, dispelling it of worries; for now, she needed to focus on riding. Bending over Proteus' neck, she let the animal's long spindly legs eat up the empty road.

Little happened during the day; the item of most interest was the fort Ramza had spoken of, little more than a castle and small surrounding village. Mardakan, she thought; its name surfaced from an old lesson of Simon's. They rode around it in any case, having little desire to slow down or be seen by more people than was necessary.

By dusk, Ramza announced that they were only a few hours from the farm. This seemed a tacit admission that they were done riding for the day, and shortly they found a place to camp off the road, a glade of evergreens near a little stream. The fresh water proved to be a treat, replacing the leathery contents of their waterskins, but Ramza and Alma barely seemed to notice. In any event, Ovelia spent little time conversing with the others before curling up on the ground for sleep.

Alma woke her later for her turn on watch, and grudgingly she rose, brushing pine needles from her robe and hair. Nothing happened during her few hours of duty, however; idly she wondered how populated this part of Ordalia really was. There'd been few villages so far and no big cities.

When the sun rose, she woke the others, and in moments they were mounted and moving again. An orange sun peeked between fleecy eastern clouds, throwing bars of amber illumination through a swirling ground-mist. They traveled cross-country now, off the road, winding between hills as they followed a generally southeastern course.

Then, without warning, they rounded a grove of budding maple trees, and there was the farm.

Ovelia slowed Proteus, frowning, studying the place. A large wood, almost a forest, climbed up the side of a hill perhaps a half-mile away, and at its edge, on the hilltop, stood a broad farmhouse. A short distance away from it lay a largish pen with perhaps a dozen chocobos inside, chasing each other around. Clumps of trees stood all around, some near the farm, others in the intervening space; many already boasted leaves, and some had bloomed as well, dropping pink or white blossoms to the waving grass below.

"This is it?" she prompted. _It's pretty here._

"This is it," answered Ramza, smiling.

As she watched, a figure emerged from the house, someone she could make out only as a spot of blue and yellow from this distance, though on seeing them, the person waved. "Is that Mustadio?"

"That's Mustadio."

Nodding, she heeled Proteus forward and the siblings followed, trotting along through the grass. In moments they'd ascended the slope leading to the house and met the mechanic there.

"Hey," greeted the ponytailed man, grinning. "I thought you guys would be here a couple days ago."

"Sorry," grimaced Ramza. Dismounting, he stepped forward to shake the other man's hand. "Something came up."

"Fair enough," shrugged Mustadio, obviously unworried. "I've just been relaxing here anyway."

"How have things been here?" wondered Alma brightly, slipping to the ground and tugging her riding gloves off. "Any problems?"

The mechanic smiled again. "On the contrary, it's gone well. I paid some kids from Hystet to clean the place up, and I fixed that leak in the roof." Twisting around, he nodded at the farmhouse. "Should be fine now, I think."

As he spoke, Ovelia dismounted, avoiding the urge to rub her backside now that all the traveling was done for now. Instead she studied Mustadio. He'd changed since she'd seen him last; he had a scar, for one thing, a jagged thing angling from his forehead down to one cheek, thankfully missing his eye. Despite that, he looked healthy and fit, and the curious engineers' garb he wore hadn't changed at all.

When he finished, as everyone stood nodding sagely at the roof, she touched his elbow. "You look good, Mustadio."

He flashed teeth in a quick grin. "Thanks. You don't, though. What happened? Are you sick or something?"

She blinked, quickly recalling how blunt the fellow could be. "Something like that," she admitted. "I'm... not a queen anymore."

"That was going to be my next question," he nodded. "How did that come about? Did someone overthrow Delita?"

"Delita's fine," she answered, speaking the name with difficulty. "He just... I don't really want to talk about it, if that's okay." Steel pressed into her fingers, but she released the dagger hilt with a jerk. Even so, she could still feel it in her hand, a solid thing, ready to be drawn and used.

Mustadio held up his hands. "That's fine. I don't mean to pry."

An uncomfortable silence followed until Ramza cleared his throat. "Mustadio, you didn't need to do any work here." His voice seemed torn between pain and gratitude. "I just thought you'd keep an eye on the place until we got back. Let me repay you," he decided suddenly, reaching for his belt pouch.

"I'd rather you didn't," admitted Mustadio, shifting his feet. "It's still less work than I'd have been doing at home."

"Well, at least let me reimburse what you paid the village kids," countered Ramza, digging through the coins in his pouch. "It's only right."

Mustadio chuckled, reaching to adjust his ponytail. "You can if you want, but I'm going to leave the coins here when I leave all the same."

As the men spoke, Ovelia shuffled back a step, folding hands at her waist. She could not help a sudden surge of gratitude towards Ramza for steering the conversation away from Delita, if that had been his intent. She owed him an explanation, she realized, owed them both, but what had led up to her failed attack on Delita was not the sort of thing one dropped into a casual conversation. _Later, maybe. We'll see._

Eventually, as the men continued arguing good-naturedly, Alma rolled her eyes, grabbed her things and made for the door. Ovelia did likewise, as did Mustadio, though Ramza hung back, probably to tend to the chocos.

"You haven't seen this place, have you, Ovelia?" wondered Mustadio, hands in his pockets as they stepped inside. "I can show you around."

"Please," she agreed. The door led into what she assumed to be a common room of sorts, a broad squarish space full of armchairs and tables, and with a stone hearth at one end. A few doorways led off into shadowy dimness. Though the place was plain, in fact completely undecorated save for a simple painting of the rising sun hanging over the hearth, it held a warm simplicity that appealed to her more than castles or monasteries ever had.

"Okay," he began, "this is the common room, obviously. When we first got here, it was so dusty in here you couldn't walk across the room without sneezing, but..."

* * *

As Ovelia and Mustadio wandered off, the mechanic doing all the talking, Alma hung back, trailing a finger along the arm of a vine-carved rocking chair. This was home, now. Home with Ramza. A lump formed in her throat at the thought, but she swallowed past it. _This is all I want._

In moments the sounds of conversation grew more distant as the pair disappeared into the kitchen somewhere, or maybe the pantry. She stood in place, smiling at the hearth, at the plain grey rug on the age-smooth floor planks, and closed her eyes. The house smelled of old wood, of spring.

Shortly footsteps outside turned into Ramza, idly slapping his hands free of dirt as he stepped inside, out of the sun. His eyes sought hers and he smiled, looking about as happy as she'd ever seen him. "Welcome home."

She chuckled, ducking her head, folding arms over her stomach as she made her way towards him. "Same to you," she answered in a low voice.

"I can't believe he fixed stuff," muttered Ramza, running a hand through his hair as he stared off towards the echoing voice of Mustadio. "Can you? I mean, it was nice and everything, but... I don't know."

Alma smiled absently, following his gaze, but her face soon shifted back into seriousness. "How long will she stay, do you suppose?"

"Ovelia?" wondered her brother softly. When she did not answer, he sighed tiredly. "I don't know. As long as she needs."

Alma nodded once. "What if that's forever?"

He shifted, turning towards her, and she mirrored the move. "What if it is?" he shrugged, speaking quietly. "She's had a terrible time, Alma. I don't... I don't think she's a strong enough person to be a queen. To endure all the hardships that go along with it. Do you? The fact that she tried to kill Delita is proof enough, I think."

"You're probably right," she allowed, chewing a lip, staring through his chest. "It's just... you know, we weren't planning on this, originally."

"We'll get used to it, if we need to," he assured. "I'd rather inconvenience ourselves than kick her out. She doesn't deserve that."

Alma lowered her gaze to the floor, nodding. "I know. You're right. We'll... we'll see how she does."

"Yeah." He leaned towards her, perhaps considering throwing an arm around her shoulders, but must have decided against it. "Yeah. It'll work out."

She nodded again, closing her eyes. "We... should get things ready," she declared after a moment. "Another guest bed. That sort of thing."

"Right," he agreed. "I can do that." Stepping towards one of the hallways, he gave her shoulder a friendly pat as he passed. Just friendly.

When he was gone, Alma opened her eyes again, staring blankly at the vacant chairs, the empty hearth. "Home," she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6: The Dead Don't Wear Rings

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Six: The Dead Don't Wear Rings

After their arrival at the farm, there seemed to be a flurry of trivial tasks which needed to be completed before multiple people could settle in, things like moving beds and furniture around and purchasing foodstocks. Ovelia accompanied Alma on a trip to the village of Hystet for the latter; she needed more than two sets of clothes in any case.

Hystet wasn't far, just an hour by chocobo, but it grated somewhat to get back in the saddle so soon after expecting to be done with it for a time. Alma led the way, heading east, threading through glades and over hills, at one point splashing across a little rocky stream. She seemed somehow preoccupied as they traveled, so Ovelia let her be, and in any case they soon reached their destination.

The village, Ovelia saw, was small; she guessed fewer than two hundred people dwelled there. A tight collection of little houses and shops nestled in a green valley, it boasted columns of smoke from a few chimneys, and a knot of children running around on a common just outside the village, giving the place a busy, industrious feel. As they approached, the children paused in their game, whatever it was, and began to point and shout. A pair of adults appeared at the edge of the village as a result, an aproned mother and a younger man with a barrel in his arms; neither seemed worried at the presence of strangers.

"Have you been here before?" murmured Ovelia as they trotted the chocos towards the village.

"Just once," answered Alma, keeping her eyes on the people ahead. "When we were here before. I speak the language better than Ramza does."

Ovelia nodded, choosing not to reply, and in moments they drew rein before the crowd, as such, if eight people counted as a crowd. The children began to chatter away happily, some speaking to them, others to each other or the adults. Her limited grasp of the Ordalian language caught phrases here and there; apparently she and Alma were the "foreigners from the ranch."

"Hello," offered Alma politely in the local tongue, dipping her head; below her, Heppoko bent to inspect a giggling girl. "We need... things, food and clothes. Can you sell?" By her accent, she didn't speak the language much better than Ovelia herself.

"You have gil?" wondered the mother. "Or _drak?_"

As she spoke, Ovelia examined the woman. She seemed only a few years older, perhaps Agrias' age, and slim, with a long braided ponytail hanging down to her waist. Despite black hair and dark eyes, her skin was pale, and belatedly Ovelia realized all the villagers were like that. Strange to think that there was more variation within Ivalice than between Ivalice and Ordalia. _Though this is just one village,_ she reminded herself.

"Gil," admitted Alma hesitantly. "Will that work?"

The two adults chatted briefly, their speech too rapid for Ovelia to understand. Eventually the man shrugged, and the woman smiled faintly. "Gil is fine. Go to Issendal; he's the grocer here."

Alma offered a smile. "Thank you. We will."

The locals parted, allowing the chocos to pass. Ovelia trotted through with Alma, studying the village as they entered it. The homes, she noted with some measure of guilt, were all considerably smaller than the ranch despite housing more people; some were in better condition, though, having been regularly maintained while the ranch had lain uninhabited for a few years. The villagers going about their business often stopped to watch their passage with interest, though nobody said anything.

Issendal turned out to be a balding fellow with a bristling grey goatee and a permanent scowl, though he seemed pleasant enough. To Ovelia's surprise he spoke passable Ivalician; he'd fought in the Fifty Year War, he explained, and had picked up some of the language in Zeltennia. He also proved rather helpful, accepting gil in place of _drak,_ though likely at a moderate markup, and even persuaded a woman selling cloth to do the same.

Thus, less than an hour later, they wound up trotting out of the city with new packs full of new things, not just flour and cloth and the like, but fruit, full garments, tools and so on. A giggling wake of children followed them out of Hystet, seemingly as excited about the chocobos as about Ovelia and Alma themselves.

Though Alma's mood seemed brighter on the return trip, Ovelia found the opposite true of herself. Laughter echoed in her ears, and wherever her eyes rested, they saw energetic little forms scrambling in play. _Children._ She hadn't thought about them much, hadn't seen any up close since her revelation, and doing so now left a sick ache in her middle. _I... want one,_ she sighed, squeezing eyes shut briefly. _Someone I can nurture. Someone who needs me, who doesn't think I'm a burden._ Rubbing a gloved hand down her face, she sighed again and let her hand fall to the hilt of the dagger. There she kept it for the better part of the way back to the ranch.

When they reached it, Ramza and Mustadio had dragged a pair of chairs just outside the door and were sprawled comfortably there, chatting and eating some early-season berries they must have found growing somewhere nearby. Mustadio waved companionably at their approach, and Ramza's smile carried a sense of relaxation Ovelia had seldom seen in it before.

"Hey," called Alma in a low voice as they approached the ranch through a fluttering rain of pink apple blossoms. "I can see to the chocos if you want to put away the stuff we got."

"That's fine," nodded Ovelia. _I need to be as useful as I can, to repay them._

"Do you know where it all goes?" continued Alma curiously. "I guess we haven't figured that out."

"The cupboards are all empty," shrugged Ovelia. "I'll figure it out as I go."

The other woman nodded and said no more as they trotted the chocobos up the hill towards the house. Ramza smiled once more as they passed, though Mustadio, apparently in the middle of relating some story, judging by his espansive gestures, did not pause.

Shortly Ovelia slid off Proteus and to the ground, pausing a moment to massage her lower back when the men weren't looking. Then, grabbing the purchased goods from the two birds, she made her way towards the front door, straining to see around a bundled armful of supplies. _I should have taken two trips to do this,_ she sighed, stumbling briefly on a depression in the ground. _I'm not used to this sort of thing._

On reaching the door she found herself forced to shuffle through it sideways, but even so a roll of uncut grey wool slid to the ground. Muttering, she squatted awkwardly to retrieve it without dropping anything else, but another hand reached it before hers.

"I got it," assured Ramza cheerfully, tucking the fabric under an arm as he straightened beside her. "Can I carry anything else? That looks awkward."

Ovelia tore her gaze away from his, feeling her cheeks heat. "No, I'm... I'm okay. Thank you." Arms tightening on the bundle of their own accord, she slid the rest of the way into the house and shuffled towards the kitchen table. It was too large, having been crafted to fit a family of eight or so; Ramza had spoken of plans to use the thing somewhere else and perhaps make a smaller one to replace it. Stepping delicately forward, Ovelia deposited the goods on the table and stepped back with a frown.

Ramza, having followed her in, tossed the wool onto the table as well, then folded arms idly over his chest. "How was Hystet? I haven't been there yet." Hazel eyes regarded her with interest.

"It was fine," she murmured, eyeing him sideways. "The people there seem nice." _He's so... comfortable here,_ she observed. _Like this is all normal to him now. This place is already home for him, I suppose, even after everything those two have been through to keep their worries elsewhere._ Suddenly she blinked, frown deepening. _What_ have _they been through?_ "Ramza?"

"Hmm?" He paused with one hand on the doorway, on his way back outside to chat with his friend.

Lips thinned in worry, she shuffled a few paces in his direction, hoping the question wouldn't be too personal. "What... happened? To you and Alma, I mean. All I heard was that you were a heretic and died fighting the Church, and she died of illness. Or grief. Nobody really knew or agreed on that."

Ramza spared her a peculiarly direct look, then dropped his hand from the doorframe. After a quick glance outside, he stepped towards her, brow creased in judicious thought. "The Shrine Knights," he answered quietly, eyes distant.

"The Shrine Knights?" she echoed, vaguely confused. "What do they have to do with this?"

"Well, mostly Vormav," he clarified, chewing a lip, but still his eyes stared inward, focusing on other events in other times and places. "I was... fighting him. For a while I didn't know it; I was just trying to find out who was manipulating the war and using the holy stones."

"Like Cardinal Draclau?" _What is he talking about?_

"Like Draclau," he agreed with a humorless chuckle. "I found out Vormav was... basically the one behind everything, but then he'd kidnapped Alma, so I ran all over trying to get her back, and then... I did." He shrugged, his explanation complete, but his attention remained elsewhere.

_There's more._ "Why Alma?" she wondered softly. "What happened?"

Ramza's eyes slid seriously to hers, but he remained silent for a time. "She was..." He paused, sighing briefly before continuing. "They used her body to resurrect Ajora," he answered plainly, his voice quiet and without pretense. "Even managed to make it work, but... she lived. Even after we killed Ajora."

"What?" she gasped, staring at him wide-eyed. "Saint Ajora? You... you're... what?"

Ramza grimaced. "Vormav killed himself to bring Ajora back, and then she... it?... fought us. It was this... demon-like thing, I guess. It was pretty weird, to tell you the truth," he added seriously.

"Ajora?" repeated Ovelia. "Why would...? I... I don't understand." _What in the world?_

"I don't either, really," he admitted. For a moment he remained silent, studying her face, but eventually he sighed. "I'm sorry, Ovelia."

"Sorry?" she managed faintly. "For what?"

He shuffled forward, gripping her shoulders, a torn expression on his face. "You probably didn't want to hear about Ajora and everything," he explained. "There's a reason we haven't told people what happened."

Ovelia gazed blankly at him before comprehension dawned. _He's worried about me?_ "Ramza, I'm... it's... okay." _I think._ "The Church... used me." _Just like_ him. _Just like everyone._ "Their hands aren't clean, Ramza. It's... it's not God's church, I don't think. Not anymore, if it ever was."

"Ah," he breathed, nodding. Strong hands squeezed her shoulders once before disappearing, and he shuffled back a pace without seeming to realize it. "Okay, good. I was worried that... well, anyway. After the airship exploded, we sort of picked ourselves up and found a way out. I'm just glad everyone made it."

She blinked for a moment before his words registered. "Airship?" she echoed woodenly. "There aren't any airships anymore." For some reason this seemed an important detail, perhaps because it was something she knew. Something solid, something she could be certain about. "And... wait, what do you mean, a way out? Out of where?"

"Well, it was... hell," answered Ramza with a sigh, chewing a lip. "That's where he'd taken her, so... that's where we went. Somehow Alma and Mustadio figured out a way to get us out of there with the Holy Stones, afterwards, and everyone just sort of... wandered off on their own."

_Hell?_ Unable to put thoughts into words, she just stared at him. _He's serious, isn't he?_

As the silence stretched, Ramza shifted his feet. Eventually he managed an uncertain smile, dipping his head once in farewell, then slipped back outside.

Moving only her head, Ovelia watched him go, only remembering to close her mouth once he was gone. "Hell," she repeated to the empty kitchen. "Actual, literal hell." _They really did that,_ she mused foggily. _Ramza did that, for Alma. That's insane. Who else would do that? Who else would even try, let alone succeed?_

She sucked lips between her teeth, thinking. Ramza... Ramza made Delita look petty.

Shaking her head, she shuffled sideways, resting hands on a leather pack full of little spice jars, but there she fell still. _I guess... I guess I can understand why he's retiring, then. I suppose I would do that too, in their place._ A simple life would appeal to him now, something exactly like this, spending the rest of his life in a beautiful place with someone he cared deeply about. _There's... no place for me, here,_ she realized. _I'm just a distraction to them. A burden. I... I need to be as useful as I can be, until I... figure things out._

Exhaling heavily, she set about putting their goods where they belonged. _I won't get in the way. I will be useful._

* * *

After tending to the chocos, Alma was pleased to learn that the men had seen to much of the work while she and Ovelia had been gone. So rather than worry about pulling weeds from the grass near the house, she knelt there next to Ramza's chair and attempted to gain the measure of the two men's conversation. 

They were reminiscing, she soon discovered, going back over the adventures they'd shared while hunting down Vormav and the Zodiac Stones. Alma smiled as Ramza recalled Lavian screaming when bats burst out of a tree near her, as Mustadio chuckled over how Orlandu couldn't handle spicy food. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing she'd been able to go along with them all, able to help out instead of being stuck in a castle or a monastery the whole time. Or kidnapped. _It's nice that he's done, now,_ she mused with a wry twist to her lips, _but it would have been nice if some of these stories were about me._

Some time later, rather later than she would have expected, Ovelia emerged from the house and claimed a spot on the ground. She, too, contributed little to the flow of stories, but unlike Alma she smiled only occasionally.

Eventually afternoon wore into early evening. Ramza interrupted the conversation to pile kindling and already-chopped wood into a nearby firepit, then set it expertly ablaze. While he poked and prodded it, Alma sought out a leaf-wrapped cut of lamb from the village and prepared to cook it, though for some reason Ovelia insisted on doing the work, so Alma let her. It was funny, she reflected; on account of being nobility, three of them had no experience cooking, apart from the campfire variety, and though Mustadio probably knew what he was about, Ramza wouldn't let him cook because he was a guest. As a result, they dined on inexpertly-roasted mutton and a handful of foods found easily in the vicinity of the ranch.

Later, she and Ovelia saw to the little cleanup required. Ramza tried to help as well, until she steered him back to where he'd been sitting with Mustadio; a third person would have crowded things, and it would have been rude to leave the guest sitting alone in any case. Afterwards they lounged about the fire, watching a blizzard of sparks drift up into the purpling twilight sky before dancing and winking out among the stars already present there.

Before long the fire dwindled, letting the growing night chill seep into warm and contented limbs. Ramza was the first to his feet, shuffling into the house, from which he emerged shortly with a lit lamp in one hand. There were more than enough rooms in the house, more than enough beds for everyone; she and her brother chose a room with two narrow beds which had probably been meant for children.

After Ramza had climbed into his own bed, Alma did likewise, pulling the covers up to her chin and staring at the shadow-cloaked ceiling. Somewhere outside, crickets chirped into the night, and the smell of wood smoke tickled her nostrils from her hair and remaining clothes. _This is home, now. Our home._

Shifting, she made herself comfortable and let her eyes slide shut. In moments she was asleep.

The next morning turned out to be a chilly one, almost cold enough to frost the grass. Alma climbed out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could, then scrubbed herself clean with an ice-cold damp cloth. After the fire last night she was tempted to head down to the pond hidden in the trees to bathe, but had no desire to faint from shock; the season was early yet, and the water likely cold.

Mustadio packed his things and was ready to leave not an hour past dawn. On foot. Ramza tried to give him a choco, which he refused with a laugh and a shake of his head. After a round or two of handshakes and hugs, and after securing a promise that everyone would visit him in Goug, the mechanic set off over the hills, whistling.

Alma frowned after him striding through the fading ground-mist. _Now the work begins,_ she mused, smiling faintly.

"Well," sighed Ramza, planting hands on his hips. "There's a lot that needs to be done. I need to cut the grass in the chocobo pen if one of you can feed them. Then we have to inspect them to make sure they're healthy. With this many, one or two might have a weak leg or a bad eye or something; those are common problems."

Ovelia turned towards him, her brow furrowed prettily. "How do you know so much about chocobos?" she wondered, absently tugging a light cloak tighter around herself.

Ramza eyed her without expression. "Our father used to have a ranch," he explained, shifting his gaze to the penned birds, most of whom were still asleep, heads tucked under wings. "He was almost never there -- it was a little estate -- but Alma and I learned to ride there."

"That sounds nice," murmured Ovelia thoughtfully.

"It was," he agreed.

Silence stretched for a moment before Alma hitched her shoulders. "We should get started."

Ramza and Ovelia both nodded. "I can do the feeding," offered the former queen softly.

The two of them wandered off to begin their work and Alma did likewise in the house. Since neither she nor Ovelia knew how to cook properly, she took it upon herself to learn. The other woman, she quickly noted, had actually organized everything quite nicely in the kitchen, had cleaned out jars in which to store flour and grain and the like. Smiling, Alma examined the setup for a moment before plucking an empty jar from a shelf and heading down to the pond. _Maybe this won't be so bad._

Somehow one chore seemed to lead into another, and before she knew it, it was getting dark again. After dining on some spiced noodles she'd cooked up -- and hard mass of blackened bread only Ramza was polite enough to try -- they lounged about another fire for a few hours before seeking their beds.

Shortly days slipped into weeks, which somehow turned into months. The black hair dye gradually washed out, and she grew comfortable in the relatively plain garments available in backwater Ordalia. She quickly acquired a touch for cooking, and even Ovelia tried her hand at it. Ramza wanted to as well, but she denied him; though anyone could cook, some tasks around the ranch simply required his muscles, or at least a person not in a dress, so it made more sense for him to stick to what he was already doing. After a brief rebuttal on his part and a raised eyebrow on hers, he eventually sighed and agreed.

After the first few weeks, however, the days grew less busy; they'd managed to finish most of the initial work, getting the place suited to three people instead of eight, planting gardens for vegetables and so on. With little newfound stretches of free time now and then, Alma took to riding the chocobos out around the general area, sprinting through the hills and glades, letting her hair ripple behind her, grinning and laughing for hours at a time. Ramza did the same, sometimes with her, sometimes alone, and quickly they identified Rauss and Echo as the fastest birds. He'd wanted to breed them for speed and she was willing to let him.

Ovelia, rather than riding, seemed to take pleasure in heading down to the hidden pond. Often enough she returned wet, having either been bathing or swimming, but she always went alone. In fact, Alma observed Ovelia spending a great deal of time alone. She was pleasant enough company when around, always smiling and polite, but she seldom initiated conversation, seldom spoke at all unless someone asked her a question.

Alma wondered about that, wondered how long it would take her to recover from the horror of her fallout with Delita. Wondered how long she'd be at the farm. To her surprise she'd grown accustomed to having Ovelia around; she appreciated having another woman's perspective, and having another pair of hands never hurt. _I just wish she wouldn't carry that dagger around everywhere._

Gradually the days grew shorter and summer faded into autumn. The apple trees provided more fruit than they could bear to eat, much of it falling to the grass and rotting there, but before that happened she grabbed a bucket of apples and used them to make a pie. And then another one. The third one finally turned out well, and that one they ate, although to her mild disgust it was gone inside a day and a half.

Every night when they went to bed, after every awkward hug from Ramza, she found herself lying in bed, smiling at the ceiling. _This really is home._

* * *

Sky. Grey sky, thin clouds. Radiant fissures webbing from horizon to horizon, barely concealing the sun, almost too bright to look at. Golden leaves falling in a cool breeze, tumbling from waving branches on the edge of vision. _So many leaves._ A flock of birds, black specks against the greyness, flying south and west in angled formation. 

Ovelia closed her eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sky and simply floated. The breeze chilled her bare skin, but the water still held the heat of summer yet and felt rather warmer than the air. It wouldn't for long, though; the seasons would soon change and steal this pastime from her, perhaps before the first frost. _And then there will be... so very little to look forward to,_ she reflected vaguely. _Just next spring, I suppose._

Idly waving her hands in the water to keep her position stable, she cracked her eyes open once more, gazing skyward. Falling leaves drifted across her vision, some landing to float in the water with her. She'd spent the whole day raking leaves, cleaning them out of the chocobo pen, and had blistered hands and a weary back to prove it. Ramza had mentioned in passing the day before that old rain could make mildew in the leaves and that the birds could get sick from it, so she'd raked without being asked. Nobody had tried to stop her, but nobody had helped; there was enough work to do for everyone to mind their own business during the day. Which, oddly, she found she preferred.

As she floated, something touched her back, a soft caress drifting from left to right along her skin before disappearing. Seaweed. When she'd first started swimming here the seaweed had disturbed her, but now she no longer cared. It was just something in the world now, something that simply existed without goal or purpose. _Like me._

Feeling her hair drift aimlessly in the water beside her head, she watched the clouds slowly shifting and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have the seaweed catch her. To have it drag her under the pond's placid surface, to sleep forever among the rippling sunlight and wet velvety leaves. _Peaceful. That sounds peaceful._

The breeze picked up again, turning almost windy, bringing goosebumps to her stomach and shoulders. With a sigh she rolled to her stomach and kicked towards the rocky spot where her clothes lay. Once out of the water she simply stood on the rocks, eyes down, letting the icy wind dry her. A reminder of her birthday still lay plainly over her ribs, pale and puckered, not terribly pronounced but nevertheless unchanging. _I guess some scars just never heal, do they?_

Soon the water trickling from her body slowed to mere dripping, and her limbs began to shiver involuntarily. Bending, she retrieved her clothing and donned it, shift and plain grey dress of surprisingly soft wool. The material settling over her chill skin felt twice as warm for cutting off the wind, a comfortable sensation that relaxed her much as the water had before. As she tugged the dress straight, her fingers alighted briefly on the dagger, a familiar weight at her side. She could remember having wanted to remove it at one point, but the memory was a foggy one, the urge long gone. Now it was just there, a part of her.

After tugging on her boots, she made her way up the path towards the house, little more than a winding line up the hill in which the trees were just far enough apart to pass between. The walk was a quiet one, whispering leaves and the cawing of distant birds her only companions.

On reaching the house she paused, peering about for the others. Alma she quickly spotted over by the birds, examining an injury Nemea had sustained to her wing, but Ramza was nowhere to be found. Shrugging mentally, she continued on inside, quickly retrieving a brush from her room and sitting out in the common room to use it. As she brushed out wet hair, her eyes drifted to the door, through which she could see waving gold-and-orange leaves on more distant trees.

_I can't believe it's autumn,_ she reflected as the brush tugged tangles out of her hair. _I've been here for... four months? Maybe five? They have to be getting tired of me by now. It's all_ his _fault I'm here, anyway._ Shaking her head tiredly, she suppressed a sigh. _What am I even doing? I'm just kind of... drifting along. I know some things now, useful home things; maybe I should... settle. Find a man. A real man._ Her lips twisted faintly but she quickly smoothed the expression. _I need somebody strong, I suppose, but with a heart. Not like_ him. _Someone who's actually gentle._

After a moment she snorted quietly, shaking her head. _Who am I kidding, though? I'm in Ordalia, and most of the men in Hystet are probably already taken anyway. Not that I'd even know how to go about finding a..._

Her train of thought was interrupted as Ramza trotted in from outside, a bundle of chopped firewood in his arms. He smiled at her without breaking stride. "Have fun swimming?" he called over his shoulder on his way to the hearth. "Seems a little cold for it today."

Ovelia froze, brush pausing in mid-stroke as she followed his progress, moving only her eyes. _What if...?_

Reaching the hearth, Ramza dumped the wood into a nearby metal basket, then glanced back at her again. "Ovelia?"

She blinked, averting her gaze. "It was... fine," she answered softly. "The water is still warm." Heat arose somewhere in her chest, touching her cheeks.

"Oh," he murmured. "I suppose it would be, yet. Though I'll just take your... oh, hello, little fellow."

Blinking again at this, she eyed him sideways to find him scooping a spindly spider from atop the pile of wood. Flashing her another sunny grin, this one slightly apologetic in character, he trotted back towards the door, hands cupped protectively over the tiny creature he'd found. Once outside, he bent to release the thing, then disappeared again, probably in search of more wood.

Ovelia swallowed, eyes burning as she lowered her gaze to her lap. _I... I can't,_ she decided. _I shouldn't._ Her fingers tightened slowly on the brush handle, prompting her to continue her work with the thing. It took some effort to smother the thoughtful frown touching her features, though.

* * *

The first snowfall came and went without incident save for a little celebration in Hystet, perhaps a holiday of some sort. Ramza saw only a little portion of the event, enough to see the locals lighting lanterns out-of-doors for, as Alma explained, dancing later in the evening. He vaguely regretted not staying long enough to see the festivities, but supposed it would have mattered in any case; his talent in the matter was in even shorter supply than his options for partners. 

The snow lasted less than a week, but a fresh ankle-deep blanket fell shortly after the first supply had disappeared, leaving the world pristine and crystalline. Autumn was all well and good, he reflected, and though he considered himself a spring person, winter had its strong points as well. Seated atop Boco on a hill a few miles from the farm, it was easy to smile at how new everything looked, how ideal, with all the real world's blemishes hidden under powdery fluff that glittered like a mirror in the sunlight. Feathery puffs of mist formed in front of his face with every breath, each dissipating in a blink.

A faint cry drew his attention northward, to where a circling hunting bird lamented the dearth of easy game in the snow. Or perhaps celebrating having found some, or that it was sunny; he did not understand animals near well enough to say, he supposed.

Shaking his head with a wry smile, he tugged off a glove and ruffled Boco's head feathers. "Home, shall we?" he suggested in a murmur. "It'll be dark soon, and the women are probably wondering where we are."

The bird warked its assent, a purring chirp, and set off without further command back towards the ranch. Gnarled rootlike claws dug through snow into the ground beneath, seemingly finding the weather no reason for concern as they loped quickly and easily cross-crountry.

On arriving back home he spotted Alma outside, wrapped in a leather overcoat and feeding the birds. She waved when he was perhaps a quarter-mile away, a gesture he returned from Boco's back.

"Looks like you had fun," she observed as he approached. Shooting him a quick grin over her shoulder, she adjusted her grip on a sack of seed. "You're all windblown."

"Probably not as much as you are when you ride," he countered, slipping to the ground. Turning his back on his sister, he focused his attention on unbuckling saddle and harness. "You sprint. I just ride."

She giggled behind him. "I can't deny that," she admitted.

Chuckling, he hung the saddle on a nearby peg in the open-roofed stables, then trotted towards the house. Carefully he cracked open the door and edged through it, mindful not to let too much heat out into the world, then tugged off his boots. Alma had not appreciated when he'd tracked snow inside last week; apparently stepping in icewater with her slippers did not amuse her.

After adding a log to the smoldering blaze in the hearth, he spent a moment thawing his hands there before making his way to the kitchen, hoping for one of the sweets his sister had picked up in Hystet a few days ago. Ovelia was there, bent over the stove, scrubbing some blackened residue clean from the surface; the task must have been fairly engaging, for she failed to notice him clattering the lid off a little jar under the cupboards and plucking a candy from within.

Replacing the lid, he popped the sweet into his mouth and leaned against the counter, eyeing the former queen. In truth, it made him want to squirm seeing her engaged in such mundane labor, either her or Alma, but they insisted, and rather firmly at that; once, not too long ago, when he'd tried to make them let him cook a chicken, Alma had kicked him in the thigh. The bruise had not faded for a few days, but at least it had cleared up the question of whether their protests were token or not. His strategy now was simply to let them do what they wanted.

Ovelia grunted, muttering something as she worked, and he fought the urge to smile. Nearly five months of cohabitation had changed his opinion of her somewhat, removing any awkwardness he felt spending time near a former monarch. Now she was just Ovelia, to him. And to Alma. He'd gotten used to her hollow stares, her grim silence and shy smiles, though it seemed she would take longer to recover than he had hoped. But perhaps there was reason for optimism, he reflected. Over the last few weeks her manner had changed somewhat, becoming slightly less absent, and her eyes carried a different, more inquisitive character when she looked at him, as though she were studying him, trying to figure something out. Maybe she did the same to Alma; he'd have to ask her, when he remembered.

_She's losing weight, though,_ he noted, examining her figure. _She's not eating enough._ The difference was not enough to notice by itself, but the dress she wore had not been so loose in past months. _Much more of this and she'll be downright skinny. She still looks good, though. I wonder if..._

A sudden silence caught his ears; she'd stopped scrubbing. Glancing up, he saw her staring blankly at him over her shoulder, brown eyes coolly inquisitive.

_Oh, damn._ Squeezing his eyes shut, he snapped his head around, fully aware he wasn't going to fool her. Heat burned furiously at his cheeks as his thoughts whirled, attempting in vain to produce a legitimate excuse to explain his behavior.

She cleared her throat delicately. "Ramza?"

"Hmm?" Forcing his eyes back open, he frowned through the kitchen doorway towards the commmon room hearth, hoping to present the image of a man deep in thought, one whose mind was on much weightier topics than a shapely pair of hips. _That was stupid of me. What am I going to tell her?_

"Can I ask you a question?" Her voice was soft, lacking accusation.

Despite himself he darted a glance back at her, only to see that she hadn't moved yet; still she was bent over the stove in a way that couldn't feel good on her back. Rather than the irritation he expected to see on her face, at the moment it registered only a vague curiosity. "Go ahead." _Maybe I'm not in trouble,_ he mused, surprised. _Though that would be... worrying in itself._

Ovelia chewed a lip, then finally straightened, absently wiping hands clean on the apron that covered her dress. "Has Alma ever been in love?"

He blinked, discomfort forgotten. "Alma?" he echoed, puzzled. "I don't... no, I don't think so. At least, she hasn't said anything about it, and I think I would know."

His roommate nodded once, folding arms around her middle. "What about you? I always thought you and Agrias had a thing for each other."

A cold fist clenched his heart. Unable to meet her gaze, he stared off once again towards the distant hearth blaze, feeling the muscles in his face growing stiff. "I... don't know."

Silence stretched for long moments. Finally her clothes shifted quietly. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should not have asked."

"It's okay," he shrugged, his own voice sounding flat to his ears. "I told you you could."

Again silence followed, punctuated only by his rapid heartbeat and the flow of his own breath in his ears. Ovelia didn't say anything, but he could _feel_ her eyes on him, making him want to squirm under the scrutiny. _Maybe this is payback for me looking at her,_ he sighed.

"You seem uncomfortable," she observed mildly.

Ramza chuckled humorlessly. "I... don't know much of anything about you, I guess," he realized, gesturing vaguely at the empty common room. "You don't say much."

"No one asks me anything," explained the woman softly, "so I don't answer. But you can ask. I'll tell you anything you want."

Startled, he risked another glance at Ovelia. She was just... standing there, he saw, awaiting his reaction, face as open and honest as it seemed to get. Despite her uninflected tone, her words seemed almost... flirty, he realized. _Flirty? From Ovelia?_ "I... should check the fire," he managed faintly, clearing his throat. Smiling weakly, he hurried from the room.

Ovelia's eyes tracked his progress but thankfully she made no move to follow him. _What the hell was that?_ he wondered vaguely, dropping to his knees next to the hearth and grabbing an iron poker. _I'm... probably just reading too much into things,_ he sighed, shifting the logs forcefully about, sending a storm of sparks up through the chimney. _She's just trying to be friendly. Nothing wrong with that._

* * *

After Ramza left, Ovelia slumped, grimacing at the worn floorboards. _That... didn't come out right,_ she admitted silently. She'd intended to be open with him, but not so... _obviously_ open. _That wasn't inappropriate, was it? I mean, we live together. He has a right to know what brought me here._ Part of her was glad he hadn't asked, hadn't made her explain about Delita, but if he had, she would have forced herself to answer. 

_But he didn't, so I'm fine,_ she reminded herself. Shaking her head, she turned back to the stove.

His attention had been... a surprise, she reflected. A shock, even, like cold water thrown in her face. To live with him for so long, and then have him suddenly start to ogle her... that was strange. It had, perhaps, affected her judgement. Certainly she would not have planned to stay in the same position after she'd caught him, to see if he'd look again, nor would she have expected herself to be so suggestively open later, but his was not an empty appreciation, like that of the men in the village. Ramza knew her. To him she was not just a dress and some golden hair, which people considered exotic in this part of Ordalia. When he looked... it carried weight. And he was so unthreatening, so easy to tease.

_Easy to...? What's happening to me?_ she wondered sadly, scrubbing at her burning eyes. _I can't just... can't just throw myself around just because Ramza's the most convenient man. I'm still married, for heaven's sake. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for_ him, _anyway. Wouldn't be causing these two all this... weirdness. It's all_ his _fault._

With an effort she removed her hand from the dagger and forced her attention back to her work. It was time to start cooking in any case.

* * *

When the sun was just a fiery orange ball atop the western hills, the smell of roasted peppers reached Alma where she stood in the chocobo pen. Pausing briefly, she grinned; Ovelia, when she cooked, seemed to avoid cooking meat when she could, perhaps because vegetables were so easy to prepare, but in any case she'd developed skills. 

Shaking her head, she resumed pouring fresh water into one of the troughs, then straightened and knuckled her back. "Looks like it's _my_ turn to eat, now," she murmured at Herios, who was just standing there staring at her. He often did, whenever anyone touched the food or water. "Be good, now."

The choco chirped curiously in response. Smiling again, Alma hefted the heavy water jug and staggered back to its home, a storage shed attached to the back of the house, where it would remain liquid even in midwinter. Not that it was cold enough to freeze quickly anyway, she reflected as she rocked the thing into place among others like it. _This snow will probably melt in a week just like the last stuff._

Trotting around the corner of the house, she made for the door and slipped quickly inside. The aroma of food grew stronger inside, tempting her, but she ignored it for the moment, instead heading to the washroom to clean up before eating.

When she reached the kitchen, Ramza greeted her with a brisk nod. "Alma." For some reason, relief painted his voice, was etched across his face.

She paused, frowning between him and Ovelia before slowly claiming her chair. Both of them were already seated, avoiding each other's gazes so obviously they might as well have stared. "Um... sorry I'm late," she offered, making the effort to clear her frown.

Ovelia smiled uncomfortably, brushing hair back from her face. She wore it in a tail these days, tied back with an unassuming grey ribbon. "You're not late," she countered. "I just finished this anyway."

"Okay." Returning the smile briefly, Alma dug into the steaming food. Ovelia had stuffed peppers with a handful of other vegetables, then coated the whole thing with melted cheese and some spices. _I wonder where she even gets these ideas. Maybe she ate this stuff in Zeltennia._ It was good in any case; Alma reminded herself to find out what other useful secrets the woman might be hiding away.

"So," exhaled Ramza heavily as he scooped food onto his plate. "All the chocobos still there? Reukei didn't try to run away again, did she?"

"They're all fine," chuckled Alma. "Amazing how that happens when no one forgets to close the gate."

He scowled at her. "I did close it that day. Do you remember how windy it was?"

"Sure," she agreed, smiling into a mug of pale wine. "Windy." She knew full well he hadn't forgotten to latch the gate, but he left himself open to teasing so often it was hard not to take advantage of it.

"Whatever," he muttered, slicing into a pepper. "You know I wouldn't do that."

"I believe you," whispered Ovelia. Her eyes did not rise from the table.

Ramza's hands slowed, then stopped. For a moment he simply sat like that, staring at his plate and blinking. Then, swallowing visibly, he resumed eating, more slowly than before. A faint hint of pink touched his cheeks.

Next to him, Ovelia shifted but did not glance in his direction. The silence suddenly seemed very thick.

Alma put her fork down, staring openly between the two other members of the household. _Okay, what in the world is going on here?_ Ovelia met her gaze only briefly before glancing away, obviously embarrassed, and as Ramza ate, his mechanical movements suggested a man putting all of his effort into looking normal and therefore failing.

_This is too weird now,_ decided Alma, eyes narrowing. _Are they sneaking off to smooch while I'm not around, or what? I need to find out._ She paused. _But not here. After we eat, maybe._

Her plan determined, she nodded to herself and continued to eat. "Ramza," she began, trying quickly to think of another topic, "the... last time I was in Hystet, I let slip that you had a sword. Now the kids there all want you to teach them to use it."

Her brother groaned, shaking his head. "I don't want their parents to get mad at me," he sighed.

She threw him a perplexed frown. "Why would they?"

He shrugged, idly pushing his food around with a fork, not looking at her. "A boy who can use a sword is going to _want_ to use it. He... won't want to stay at home and learn a craft. I don't want to split families apart like that. I'd be happy if no one knew how to use them," he added in a mutter. Ovelia squeezed her eyes shut at this.

_Oh._ Alma twisted her lips, thinking. "Is it really that serious?" she wondered. "I think they just think of it as play. You don't have to train them to be warriors, and sometimes young people do want to strike off on their own. It's natural. Isn't it?"

He glanced up, meeting her gaze seriously for a long moment before relaxing in a chuckle. "Maybe," he allowed. "Maybe you're right."

She grinned at him, relieved at having lightened the mood somewhat. "I'm always right."

"That's true," he agreed with a faint smile. Even Ovelia seemed vaguely amused.

Smiling to herself, Alma busied herself eating. The others did likewise, finishing quickly as there was little additional conversation.

As she stood to collect the dirty dishes, Ramza excused himself to go inspect the rocking chair in the common room; it had started to creak recently and he'd not been able to fix it as of yet. Ovelia remained in the kitchen, moving slowly, eyes down. Outside, the sun had totally disappeared, leaving the horizon just a glowing band of faint peach under a violet sky.

Pausing to make sure Ramza was out of an earshot, Alma poked the other woman's arm. "Hey," she murmured. "I have to ask you something."

Ovelia chuckled for some reason, little more than a silent swaying of her body. "Go ahead," she instructed, tipping water into a washtub.

Alma cleared her throat. "What... exactly... is happening between you and Ramza?"

The former queen froze, eyes sliding to meet hers. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Alma grimaced, wondering how to phrase it. "You two are just... strange around each other sometimes. It seems like you're making him uncomfortable."

Ovelia shifted to face her, eyebrows drawn in a thoughtful frown. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked softly.

"No. No, you... no, I don't think so." Alma sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I just mean... are you... together? Things just seem strange, and I'm not sure what to think."

Her friend remained silent for painful moments before answering. "No," she replied faintly, "we're not together. I'm... no, we're not."

Nodding, Alma forced a somewhat rueful smile. "Okay. I just had to ask, I guess. Sorry. Though I still don't know why you're like that."

Ovelia regarded her oddly for a moment, eyes darting to the doorway through which Ramza had disappeared before sliding back. "I have a question for you, though."

"Ask away."

The other woman pursed her lips, obviously choosing her words with care. "What is there between you and Ramza?"

Alma froze; something cold gripped her insides. "What... what do you mean?"

"You just... seem... very protective of him," noted Ovelia delicately, keeping her voice low. "And you're... very close, you know? I just... I'm not sure how to..." She trailed off, wringing hands nervously, not making eye contact.

Alma opened her mouth, then had to swallow before she could speak. "I don't know what you mean."

"Seriously?" The word seemed to slip from Ovelia's lips before she could catch it; grimacing, she shifted her feet. "I mean... I don't know. He's just a very sensitive area for you."

_Sensitive. Too affectionate._ Sudden anger flashed through her, curling her lips back, clenching fingers into fists. "Why... why do you care? It wouldn't even matter if you weren't throwing yourself at him!" Her own voice seemed to hang faintly in echo, informing her that she'd been shouting.

Ovelia's jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. Then those eyes welled with tears and she spun, sprinting out of the kitchen and the house altogether.

When she was gone, Alma rubbed a hand down her face and stumbled back against the counter. _That was uncalled-for,_ she realized. _Why... why did I do that?_

Sighing, she examined the mess in the kitchen. She could apologize later, perhaps, when they'd both cooled down some, but in the meantime, there was work to be done.

* * *

"...if you weren't _throwing yourself at him!_" 

Ramza jerked at this, nearly hitting his head on the bottom of the rocking chair. _What the...?_

Before he could wonder, running footsteps emerged from the kitchen, turning into the lower half of Ovelia, all he could see from under the chair. Without slowing she bolted out through the door, letting it thump shut on its own long moments later.

Grimacing, Ramza gently set aside the tool he was using to tighten the chair's legs -- he didn't know its name -- then slid out from under the thing and stood. _This isn't good,_ he sighed anxiously, glancing between the front door and the kitchen doorway.

Eventually he shook himself and shuffled towards the kitchen. "Alma?"

* * *

Sniffling, she ran as fast as she could, stumbling on the occasional tree root buried beneath the thin layer of snow, at one point actually falling face-first, barely catching herself in time to avoid getting a mouthful of snow and leaves. Light from a silver crescent above left an eerie pale glow over the snow, enough to let her pick out tree trunks as shadowy jags even through her tear-blurred vision. _Throwing myself...? She's right, isn't she? She has no idea, but she's exactly right, totally by accident. Oh, what's happened to me?_

Soon she reached her destination, the rocky beach, such as it was, on the shore of the hidden pond. Rather than appreciate the scenery, she found her attention on the dagger, drawn and held in a shaking hand.

_It's all his fault,_ she reminded herself, snarling silently, lips curled to expose clenched teeth to the night air. _If I weren't here, these two would be totally fine. It's because of_ him _that I'm here, so... it's his fault. But I can't hurt him now, can I?_ Delita was a country away, and even so the siblings had convinced her to stay her hand. _I can't hurt him, and I can't hurt them._ The Beoulves themselves were still innocents, almost... childlike in a way in which she was a full woman. Likely Alma had as little idea what was going on as she herself had. _I can't exactly... hurt the house,_ she continued, sniffling, _so... I can't do anything._

Suddenly she blinked. _Except..._

* * *

"What's going on?" called Ramza quietly as he stepped into the kitchen. 

Alma paused with the washrag in her hands, frozen on one of the plates from dinner. "I... don't know," she answered, her voice sounding smaller than she'd intended to make it.

"Alma," he scolded gently. Footsteps approached behind her. "Please tell me what just happened. I know it concerns me."

She sighed tightly, then set the plate aside, idly drying her hands on another rag as she turned to face him. "It's... silly," she warned awkwardly, staring up at him out of the tops of her eyes.

"I don't think it is," he countered in a murmur, shuffling closer. "Whatever it is, it looks serious to me." Hazel eyes stared down at her, patient but expecting answers.

Alma sighed again, lowering her head. "I... asked if you and her were together," she explained in a low mutter. "I was going to ask you, but I figured you'd deny it either way since you hadn't already told me."

Ramza hovered a short distance away. "Oh. How... how did she take that?"

"Well enough," she shrugged. "But then she asked about... I don't know."

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. This close, he smelled faintly of sawdust. "Asked you what?"

"Asked about us," she finished weakly. "About... you know. She thinks we're... close, and that I'm... what was it?... protective of you. She wanted to know what was between us, and... I got mad."

Ramza's grip weakened slightly. "Why did she ask that?"

"How should I know?" sighed Alma.

He remained silent for a time, dropping hands back to his sides. Eventually he sighed as well. "Alma?"

"Hmm?"

"What _is_ between us?"

She blinked, glancing up at him, but he was just staring back awaiting an answer. "Well, we're..." She trailed off, watching his expression for any change and finding none. "You're... you're my brother," she concluded with a frown. "Right?"

His lips quirked in a momentary smile at her having to make such an obvious remark, but it quickly faded. "Why did that bother you, though?"

Alma took a deep breath. "It's... I don't know. It was like she was implying that... that we... we're..."

"You don't have to say it," he assured flatly.

"Okay," she exhaled. "Thank you."

"Right."

"Yeah." She toyed briefly with the strings on her apron, then made a face. "Ramza, I'm tired of this."

He hesitated for some reason, his posture whispering caution. "Tired of what?"

"This," she repeated, gesturing vaguely between them. "I... I want us to be able to hug like we used to." Now that the words were out, others followed in a flood. "I enjoyed that, and I'm tired of how strange it all seems now. It's the way we know how to relate, and it doesn't make sense for us to change it to something else just because Ovelia finds it odd, you know? I just..." She cut herself off, biting a lip as she stared at his feet.

"Oh, thank God," he muttered, stepping forward to wrap arms around her. "I hated having to question everything I did to you."

Alma threaded arms around his waist, squeezing him close. "I know what you mean." Letting her head thump into his shoulder, she stayed that way for long moments before shifting. "I should probably check on Ovelia," she sighed.

"No. Let me." Releasing her, Ramza turned and made for the common room. "She probably doesn't want to talk to you right now."

"I... suppose not," she grimaced. "Make sure you grab her overcoat, though. It's cold out there."

"Already got it."

* * *

Ramza did not know exactly what he expected to find, but he knew exactly where to find it. It felt odd, somehow, heading down towards the pond next to his own house, but as long as they'd lived there, he'd never violated Ovelia's privacy by intruding on her visits there. Though now, he reflected, at least it seemed unlikely she'd be swimming. Shadowy trees floated past as he descended the hill, mostly skeletal but some with leaves yet; the snow had come rather early in the season. Ovelia's running footprints preceded him, fluffing irregularly through the snow. 

He found her next to the pond, just standing in place and shivering. Pausing some sixty paces away, he watched her briefly to make certain he wasn't interrupting anything, but she seemed not to be doing anything. Beyond her, a faint mist curled up from black water into the crisp night air, almost glowing silver in the thin moonlight, lending the place a vaguely-ethereal feel.

Adjusting his grip on the woman's coat, he continued on, keeping his footsteps light. Either she did not hear his approach or she simply didn't care, for she just stood and shook, her attention seemingly focused on something in front of her. Something in her hands, perhaps.

At ten paces, he saw something drip to the icy rocks before her feet. Something dark.

His heart froze. "Ovelia?"

Her head jerked up, then around to stare over her shoulder. "Ramza? Oh, God." Her voice was a shaky whisper. Turning, she huddled in on herself, her back to him.

"Ovelia, what's...?" His voice cracked; dropping the coat, he bolted to her, then skidded to a halt with his hand just short of touching her shoulder. "What is it?" he asked, forcing as much calm as he could manage into his voice.

"Just go," she whispered brokenly, sniffling.

"You're hurt," he countered in a whisper.

She nodded once, golden ponytail bobbing.

He closed his eyes, mustering patience. "At least let me check--"

"No."

Grimacing, he shook his head. _Not much I can do if she won't even talk to me._ Turning, he shuffled away from the pond far enough to retrieve the fallen overcoat. Moving loudly so as not to surprise her, he stepped back to where she stood, then draped the coat over her shoulders. "At least take this," he suggested. "I don't want you to get cold."

Ovelia did not immediately reply except to lower her head and begin to shake anew. Ramza hovered in place, uncertain; she hadn't told him to leave again, hadn't thrown the coat off or any such...

"Why," she croaked, "are you so nice to me?" She sniffled again, her shaking intensifying. "All I've done is... is bring pain and disorder into your lives. I'm just... I... I ruin everything I..." Trailing off, she began to weep, a high anguished keening that raised the hair on his arms.

Swallowing, Ramza reached out again, hesitating only briefly before touching her shoulder. "That's... not true, Ovelia," he sighed quietly. "I like having you here. Both Alma and I do."

She shook her head fiercely, unable to reply. Abruptly coughing, she began to cry in earnest, choking sobs racking her thin frame.

Making a face, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, feeble gesture though it was. "Why are you...? Look, if anyone's to blame here, it's Alma. She should not have yelled at you. Sometimes... sometimes she's just like that, you know. I know her pretty well, so I can usually avoid getting into situations where she..." Realizing he was rambling, he sighed again, then started anew. "I'm... I'm your friend, okay? Whatever you think is happening, I'm... I don't... hate you or anything. I don't know why I would."

Her only response was more sobbing, as though this pained her somehow. Wobbling suddenly, she fell to her knees, head bowed, body still shaking with grief.

Lips twisted, Ramza settled down behind her on the rocks, making no move to circle her or face her; he understood enough to see that her back was a wall, keeping him out until she was ready to speak to him. If she ever would be. Although, strangely, it occurred to him that she hadn't objected when he'd touched her, so with a shrug he tried it again, rubbing a friendly hand across her shoulder blades. _Please,_ he willed silently. _Let me in. I hate seeing this. Seeing you... or anyone... like this._

Eventually she subsided to sniffles, scrubbing a sleeve absently against her face. "You must think I'm... pretty silly," she murmured hoarsely. "Pretty foolish."

"Honestly?" he sighed, staring past her to the curling mist over the water. "I'm just... confused." _And concerned._

Ovelia shifted, shaking her head slowly. Silence stretched, broken only by a faint but raucous bird cry echoing through the trees and moonlight.

Ramza chose not to speak either, not to stop touching her. She hadn't shied away from it yet, hadn't really acknowledged it at all.

"She thinks we're together," mused the former queen eventually. "Did she tell you that?"

He nodded, aware she couldn't see the gesture. "She did. I corrected her, though."

Ovelia sighed heavily, slumping. "After I came down here, I was just... so _mad,_" she explained in a quiet monotone. "I've been getting like that lately. I don't really know why. Mad at Delita, at Alma. At myself. At everyone. But I can't hurt him, and you two haven't done anything wrong, and I just needed to _hurt_ something, so... so I did this." Shifting again, she lifted her left arm slightly.

Ramza frowned, hesitating, then scooted to her side to see what she was showing him. She'd rolled her sleeve up to her elbow, exposing a stretch of pale skin... only now it wasn't so pale. Dark blood covered more than half the exposed area, trickling from a gash across her inner forearm, painting jagged lines of crimson down her palm. The dagger still lay forgotten in her right hand.

"Oh," he breathed, wilting where he sat. "Ovelia."

Dark eyes darted sharply to his own, perhaps daring him to scold her, but when he remained silent she shifted her attention back to her wounded arm. "After I did it, I just... stood there. Stood there and started to cry. I couldn't even move. I just... I just wondered how it all came to this. How everything went so wrong."

"Ovelia," he repeated in a whisper. _My God._ "Do you want me to heal you?"

She shook her head faintly, frowning at the injury. "It's my own fault, Ramza. I just need to be more careful with my temper in the future, I guess. Maybe this will remind me."

"No." Some pieces were clicking into place in his mind. _She's still angry at Delita?_ "That's the wrong lesson to learn from this."

Her head swiveled to regard him blankly. "How so?"

"You still hate Delita, don't you?" he wondered. "You haven't forgiven him yet."

"Of course I have," she answered crossly. "I'm here, aren't I? You two convinced me to leave him alone."

"That's not the same thing," he objected. "You gave up on trying to _kill_ him, but you still _hate_ him. Don't you?"

Ovelia stared at him, scowl fading into an expression of thought. "Yes," she decided finally. "I do."

Ramza sucked breath between his teeth. "You need to change that, Ovelia. I've seen it before and it's not pretty. It'll get the best of you eventually."

She shrugged, staring off over the water. "I can't change how I feel."

"You have to try," he insisted.

"Why?" Her voice was sharp, impatient.

"It's killing you," he observed flatly, gesturing at her injured arm. "You can't just bottle hate."

She didn't answer, but her face could have been chiseled from ice as she scowled at the moon-touched pond. Something rustled in the undergrowth nearby, perhaps a rabbit.

"I know you don't want to hear this," he continued grimly, "but you have to leave this behind you. You could have a happy life here -- or anywhere -- ahead of you, but holding this in your heart is just going to make you miserable, without purpose, until the day you die."

"You're a fine one to talk," she accused softly, still not looking at him. "You were there at the same exact time and place. How is that leaving it behind you? You came out of death to talk to him."

"Well, that's true," he admitted. "But I let it go afterwards. After I saw him there."

"Why?"

Ramza rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Because I could tell he didn't care. I wasn't important to him. Not like you were."

Ovelia scowled at the mist. "Don't talk like that. I meant nothing to him."

"That's not true, Ovelia."

She spared him a withering look. "Why not?"

Ramza sighed at his lap. "He loved you."

She did not answer right away. Glancing sideways, he saw moonlight shining on tears streaking down her face. "Don't... don't say things like that," she scolded in a whisper. "You don't know anything."

"No, it's true," he countered. "He loved you. I saw it on his face the moment after he stabbed you. He just... he looked broken. I've never seen him like that, not even after Teta died."

Ovelia shook her head in silent denial, gasping a soft sob. The dagger shivered in her hand, her grip white-knuckled even in the moonlight.

"So please," he continued quietly, "just... let it go, once and for all. You're among friends now. We're not going to... to hurt you however he did. We're not going to use you. Delita has said you're dead to him, if not in so many words, so please, just... return the favor."

Her eyes drifted down to the dagger. "It's... it's all I have," she whispered. "I can't."

Ramza shook his head slowly. "You have friends here. You have a life." He paused, but she only sat there, shivering and shedding tears. "You know, I'd thought you were slowly getting better while you've been here. I didn't realize you were just getting more miserable. That's... not what anyone wants for you. Not even him."

Ovelia squeezed her eyes shut, face crumpling in teary determination. "Why are you helping?"

Lips twisting ruefully, he glanced off through the snow-blanketed underbrush. "I just... I don't know," he muttered. "I want you to be happy. I miss seeing you smile for real."

Long moments stretched in the crisp night air. "Will... will you be here?" Her voice was barely audible. "Will you help?"

_Help how?_ "Of course."

Ovelia tensed beside him, staring at nothing, teeth silently bared. Then she screamed and twisted, hurling the dagger out over the pond; moonlight glittered on steel for a moment before the thing plunked distantly into the water, its splash hidden by the mist.

Ramza bit a lip, holding his breath, not certain what this meant. Cutting his eyes sideways, he watched her surreptitiously, but she was only sitting there, breathing heavily.

Eventually Ovelia sighed. "I guess... I need a new work knife."

He chuckled despite himself, throwing a friendly arm around her. She remained stiff for only a moment before settling in, letting her head thump into his shoulder. Awkwardly he found the edge of her coat and dragged it minutely forward, hoping to keep her warm.

"It still hurts," she murmured some time later. "You know? I'd hoped... I don't know."

He nodded, letting his cheek rest against her hair. "I'd be surprised if it didn't."

Ovelia nodded as well, sighing deeply. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it." He fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Ovelia?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want me to heal your arm?"

She shifted against him. "I won't die from it, will I?"

He shook his head. "As long as you keep it clean."

"Then no," she decided softly. "What I said was true. It's my own stupid fault it's like that."

"Okay." _That's silly. It's got to be smarting, still._ He held his tongue, however.

Adjusting his seat on the cold rocks, Ramza tried to make himself comfortable without disturbing Ovelia, who was still just leaning almost limply against him. Soon he found an agreeable position and settled into it.

Long moments passed in a silence broken only by her breath and his own. Eventually he gave her shoulder a squeeze. "We should probably get back inside," he murmured. "You're probably cold, and Alma's doubtless wondering what happened, and your arm could use some attention, and... and you're asleep, aren't you?"

She didn't answer, didn't acknowledge the question at all. He shook his head. "Great. Let's get you up, shall we?" Carefully he shifted about, placing an arm under her knees to complement the one around her back, then stood, lifting her. Her coat hung almost to the ground, but not low enough to trip him.

Shaking his head at having to carry her to safety once again, Ramza started up the hill towards the house.


	7. Chapter 7: Wholes

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Seven: Wholes

Ovelia awoke to sunlight in her eyes. Smiling, she stretched in bed, pushing the blankets into further disarray before finally throwing them aside. The morning air in her room was cool against her exposed skin -- the fire in the common room had doubtless smoldered its way out hours before -- but the sun streaming through the windows mitigated the chill somewhat.

Abruptly she froze, blinking. _I... did I fall asleep outside? Ramza must have carried me here, then._ Frowning, she glanced about the room. _He could have woken me up; I would have walked._ Even so, his concern warmed her insides, bringing the smile back to her face. He'd even bandaged her injured arm, she saw.

As she started to rise, however, she froze again. _Did I sleep late? Today is... no, I cooked yesterday. Alma is today._

Feeling vaguely reassured, she slipped to the floor, smooth planks cool on her bare feet, and quickly dressed. Most of her dresses were rather similar now, mostly the same thing in different colors; wasting little time, she chose a black one and slipped into it. The cut seemed looser than it had been months ago; either the fabric was stretching or she was getting skinnier. _Either way, Ramza seemed to like the grey one._ Lips twisting at the thought, she ran her eyes over the empty dagger sheath lying on the dresser, then made for the door.

Out in the common room it was just as sunny if not more so. A fire was already going in the hearth, but not well; likely Ramza had started it just moments before. Through the walls she could hear the muted thump of him chopping wood somewhere nearby. There would probably be a great deal more of that now, she reflected, with real winter on its way, not just this cold snap.

A mild sizzling from the kitchen spoke to Alma already at work, cooking cakes or some such. Ovelia chewed a lip for a moment, recalling the previous night, wondering how to approach her friend. Eventually deciding on openness, she shuffled into the kitchen. "Alma?"

The other woman turned around, throwing her an awkward smile. "Good morning. I hope you're hungry; it turns out I'm making a lot of food." As she spoke, she wiped oven-sweat absently from her forehead with a sleeve, the smile never leaving her face.

Ovelia advanced a few more paces, stilling the wringing hands at her waist. "I... want to apologize," she explained, doing her best to maintain eye contact. "I guess I've been a little lacking in..."

Alma was already shaking her head before she finished. "No, it's me who should apologize," she insisted. "I was a little shrill last night, I guess." She shuckled weakly, eyes sliding away. "I think you just touched a nerve I didn't know was there. So... I'm sorry."

Nodding uncertainly, Ovelia continued forward until she stood in front of her friend. "I was talking more about the entire time I've been here," she explained. "It can't have been easy living with me."

Alma tilted her head oddly at this. "What do you mean? You've done your share of work and everything."

"I don't really know," she admitted truthfully. "I guess... I haven't been very social."

The other woman waved her concern away. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you've been strangling the chocobos or anything."

Ovelia snickered. "I suppose not."

Alma's smile returned. "Do you want to help set up? We should be almost ready, I think."

"Of course." Stepping to retrieve the other apron, she wrapped it around herself, then busied herself setting the table. Alma began to chat at her, covering a variety of unimportant topics; Ovelia listened and participated, finding herself giggling more often than she was used to doing.

Soon Alma stepped outside to summon Ramza, and moments later they ate. Once he was present, Ovelia surprised herself by speaking almost nonstop about things she'd noticed before but never had the energy to address, things like the path to nowhere on the far side of the choco pen or the unexplained sinkhole down near the pond. The siblings listened, throwing in their own observations at time as well. Occasionally one or the other glanced at her arm, where the bandage was visible as a lumpy area in her sleeve, but neither mentioned it.

After the meal, she and Alma cleaned, the process not taking terribly long with four hands working at it. Then, with everything back in order, Ovelia stole away to her room to retrieve a cedar chest she'd stowed under the bed several months before. Stowed, and then never used. There'd been little enough need and even less motivation, before.

As she undid the latches holding the thing shut, a knock sounded from the door. Grimacing, she latched the chest back up and slid it back under the bed before answering the door. "Yes?"

Alma stood without, blinking vaguely past her at the interior of the bedroom, plain though it was; closing doors was rare here unless people were dressing. "Oh," murmured the other woman. "Are you busy? I wanted to ask you something."

"Not at all." Gesturing for Alma to lead, Ovelia followed her into the common room, where she claimed the rocking chair Ramza had recently fixed.

Alma seated herself as well, forehead creased, biting a lip. "I don't mean to pry," she began quietly, "so you're completely welcome to tell me to mind my own business, but I was just... curious what happened last night. After you left here, I mean. Ramza explained just a little bit, but you seem more cheerful today, and I was wondering just... you know, what happened."

Ovelia smiled faintly. "What did he tell you?"

"Just that you chatted for a little while and maybe helped something, somehow." Alma paused, eyes darting narrowly this way and that as she tried to remember more details. "Oh, and you threw the dagger in the pond." The woman's eyes shifted to regard the lumps of the bandage.

Ovelia nodded slowly, wondering if Alma knew how the cut had gotten there, exactly; it would be like Ramza to gloss over something like that. "That's mostly true," she admitted. "We talked about Delita, and... I think I'm better. Or at least mostly better." Even now the thought brought a smile to her lips, that she had someone she could genuinely confide in, someone who cared; she'd never had that before. That Ramza had stayed even after she'd told him to leave was, in retrospect, a very courageous thing for someone who was uncertain around women who weren't Alma. It was all she could do not to run out into the snow and start talking with him again.

"I... see," acknowledged Alma, eyes sharply intent. "What does Delita have to do with this? We'd been talking about Ramza."

"It's a long story." Making a wry face, Ovelia shifted in the rocking chair, kicking idly at the floor. "I haven't even told him everything about Delita. We just... we talked, and it was good. I got some things off my chest."

Alma's lips quirked. "Fair enough. Ramza is good for things like that."

"He is," agreed Ovelia. Abruptly realizing she was grinning, she wiped the expression clean from her face and blinked mildly at the other woman.

Shaking her head, Alma rose to her feet. "I didn't mean to interrogate you, Ovelia. I just felt responsible for last night and I couldn't get him to say much of anything about you. You know how he is."

"True," she sighed.

"Anyway," continued Alma, "I have to check on Ribentina's sore leg. It should be better by now but I think she keeps kicking at Meraneus with it."

Ovelia nodded, rising as well. "Let me know if you need any help," she implored. For some reason Alma was hesitant to use the white arts on chocobos, but she herself felt no such constraints.

"Okay." Grabbing her coat and stomping into her boots, Alma slipped out the door.

Hesitating only a moment, Ovelia swept back into her room, heeling the door shut once more before digging out the chest under her bed. It was high time she thanked the siblings for their time and patience.

* * *

_Wow,_ thought Alma as she wandered aimlessly towards the chocobo pen, squinting against the morning sunlight. _She's certainly taken with him all of a sudden._

Pausing with a gloved hand on the gate to the pen, she ran over the brief conversation once more in her mind. Ovelia hadn't spoken at length by any means, but some phrases had caught Alma's attention. _We talked, and it was good. I haven't even told him everything about Delita._ Hadn't 'even' told Ramza, as though the woman was surprised she'd held something back from him. And the dreamy smile she'd been wearing had sounded warning bells in Alma's head.

_Must have been some talk they had,_ she concluded, grunting. _I wonder if Ramza gets it. Either way, I'm not sure this is good for them._

A sudden warking reminded her that she still stood at the gate. Heriars stood on the other side, head tilted in curiosity.

"Sorry," grinned Alma, lifting the latch and letting herself. "I'm just distracted, I guess."

The chocobo warked again, then ran off. Shaking her head, Alma trotted over to where Ribentina was seated on the snow, preening herself. "Hey, girl. Let's have a look at you."

* * *

Sometime in the late afternoon, the muted sound of the front door thumping shut stole Ovelia's attention from the task at hand. Smiling, she stopped what she was doing, quickly pushing everything back under the bed; there was no real reason for secrecy, but she wanted this to be a surprise. 

Once it was all concealed, she darted out of her room and closed the door behind her, then leaned back on her hands against the frame, lips pursed. As she suspected, Ramza had just stepped in after working outside for most of the day, chopping and carrying wood to prepare for winter. His face carried a faint pink hue from the chill outside, and his breeches were wet up to the knee from slogging through the melting snow.

Noticing her right away, he paused in the act of tugging off his boots to throw her a weary smile. Then, without speaking, he shuffled across the floor to throw himself into an armchair with a sigh.

Following briskly after, Ovelia settled delicately into the chair beside him, back straight, hands folded in her lap as she regarded him. "Hi," she offered. "How was woodchopping?"

He shrugged, absently flexing the fingers on both hands. "Not bad," he answered thoughtfully. "I may need to sharpen the axe, though. It's getting a lot of use now."

She giggled. "That figures."

Ramza smiled uncertainly, eyeing her. "True. What... um, what have you been up to?"

"I can't tell you," she answered plainly. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh." His face brightened at this. "A surprise? That sounds nice."

She smiled for a moment before recalling her purpose in seeking him out. "Ramza, I want to thank you again for... for last night. I didn't expect you to stay and... you know, do everything you did. I appreciate that. A lot." Clamping her mouth shut, she stopped herself before she could embarrass him further.

He shook his head firmly. "Oh, it's nothing. Anyone would have done that, I think."

Ovelia stared at him, confused. "Anyone...? Ramza, no one's _ever_ done anything like that for me. Alma didn't," she added significantly.

He frowned momentarily. "I... I suppose not," he agreed quietly.

She nodded agreement. "Also, did you bandage my arm?" As she spoke, she lifted the limb in question, examining it briefly. The cut still stung but lacked the spreading burn that would have indicated a growing corruption.

"I did," he admitted, nodding seriously. Concern painted his open face as he gazed at the concealed bandages.

Ovelia snickered. "And I didn't wake up during that? You must be very gentle."

"Well, you did wake up." He flashed teeth in an amused smile. "You just sort of stared at me. I told you to go back to sleep, and you did."

"Really?" She smiled ruefully at her lap, avoiding the urge to toy with her dress. "I don't remember that at all. Although that reminds me. Who, um... who put me to bed?"

A faint rustling reached her ears as he shifted. "Alma did that, actually," he answered softly.

"Okay," acknowledged Ovelia, faintly relieved, unable to look up from her folded hands. "Good. I... I apologized to her earlier today, so hopefully that's... better, now."

"I would think so," mused Ramza. "She'll get mad, but she doesn't hold grudges. You sure you're not mad at her, yet?"

Her lips curved again. "I'm sure, Ramza." Pausing, she shook her head slowly. "But it's time I helped her with the food anyway. I only came out partially to talk to you."

"Then don't let me keep you," he chuckled. Stretching legs out along the floor, he let his head thump back against the chair and closed his eyes with a sigh. A few pieces of strawlike hair hanging over his eyes puffed fitfully away from his face with every breath.

_Hell,_ recalled Ovelia, watching him relax there as she slid to her feet. _To hell and back for Alma. Then to a nap in an armchair._ Lips thinned, she hesitated before finally stepping quietly into the kitchen, where Alma was humming as she chopped up some greens. "Want some help?"

The other woman turned around and gave a half-smile. "I wouldn't say no. Can you get the bread? It should be about done."

Ovelia nodded, plucking her apron from its peg on the wall and looping the thing over her head. As she fastened the ties around her waist, however, something caught her notice, some solid weight in her mind. Twisting, she glanced around, spotting Ramza gazing absently at her from the other room. His eyes weren't meeting her own, however, but rather were focused on her hands or perhaps her waist. Her waist, which, she realized, was now highlighted by the tension of the ties around it, pressing fabric against skin.

Abruptly he froze, eyes darting to hers and widening slightly as color suffused his cheeks. After a moment he tore his gaze away, shifting uncomfortably in the chair, then let his head fall back again. This time, though, a preoccupied frown creased his face.

Smiling, Ovelia darted aside, where she would no longer distract him from his dozing, and grabbed a pair of oven mitts. "Is this the new flour from Issendal?" she asked of the other woman as she tugged open the oven. "I admit I'm curious to see how..."

* * *

Days slid past. The snow melted again, leaving the world brown and barren once more, a rather cheerless situation given the looming overcast sky that had persisted for almost a week. Despite the gloom outside, however, Alma found her moods to be largely pleasant. 

After resolving -- or at least deciding not to care about -- the awkwardness between herself and her brother, she found each day anchored in a way, bookended at dawn and dusk with fierce hugs from him. It was good to be reminded that, no matter what other strangeness might be about the ranch, Ramza would still be Ramza.

It was the nature of that "other strangeness" that occupied what little worry she actually felt; most of it seemed to radiate from Ovelia. The former queen seemed to be doing well enough after whatever talk she'd had with Ramza the one time, though occasionally Alma would awake in the middle of the night to hear muted weeping drifting through the walls from the next room. On the mornings following such incidents, Ovelia's smile seemed forced, though by midday she generally looked to be back to her usual self.

Her condition notwithstanding, Ovelia now very obviously cared a great deal for Ramza, enough that he was perhaps starting to figure it out. She giggled at least twice as often and smiled nearly constantly when he was in the room, regardless of what he was doing, even if he'd fallen asleep or some such. Often she would laugh at his comments even when Alma knew he had not intended them to be funny, and whenever her smiles were directed at him in particular, her eyes virtually glowed with adoration, like he was a saint or a hero. _She might not be far wrong about that, though,_ reflected Alma.

Soon Ramza had managed to finish chopping up all the firewood he expected to use during the winter, and had stored it under oilcloth on the west side of the house. With Alma and Ovelia already having acquired the winter provisions they'd need -- heavy coats, extra blankets and so on -- from Hystet, and with the chocobos in good health and looking after the two youngest ones, Foashpil and Pentecireia, the farm turned out to be in a curious state of having little to do for a day or two.

Thus it was that she found herself atop Heppoko with the others, staring down a rocky vertical expanse the locals called the Mintao Bluffs; below them, perhaps a hundred paces, lay a river with the same name winding its way southward. Sunlight glittered gemlike on the blue water under a cloudless sky; it was warm, almost too warm for the cloak Alma had chosen to wear in the morning. A steady wind kept her comfortable, at least.

"It's so pretty," sighed Ovelia, squinting downriver before shifting her gaze back down the rise of the bluffs. "I bet you've seen things like this all over, though." Past the river stretched an empty golden field punctuated at irregular intervals with inexplicable boulders, like those in Mandalia, only more reddish.

Ramza, beside her, chuckled as he followed her gaze. "Not really. The Finath is a little wider than this river but not as pretty. I guess the Zirekile might be close, though."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But nobody fights at this one."

Alma eyed the other woman sharply. Ramza had told her his entire story; she knew he'd reclaimed Ovelia at Zirekile Falls at one point, and had helped Delita kill Hokuten knights there. If the memory bothered Ovelia, however, she gave no sign of it.

"True," he laughed. "This is too far out of the way, I suppose. The others have specific places where trade has to cross, so... you know, bandits."

"Oh," murmured Ovelia, nodding. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

Ramza nodded as well, choosing not to answer. After a moment, he slid from Boco's saddle, using his off hand to stabilize the scabbarded blade he wore whenever away from the farm, and rubbed the bird's head affectionately.

Alma did likewise, followed by Ovelia from Proteus. Dead brown grass whispered under three pairs of boots as they shuffled carefully forward to peer over the precipice. Lumpy rust-colored rocks decorated the length of the bluffs, plunging without fanfare into the river below.

Ovelia laughed uneasily, dancing a few paces backwards, pressing hands against her stomach. "It's so high," she murmured, smile still on her face as she gazed at the edge. "It makes me a little dizzy."

"It's probably safe, though," mused Ramza. "The water is probably deep enough that you could dive from here and live."

"It would be cold, though," noted Ovelia.

He smiled absently down at the river. "True."

"You know," realized Alma, pointing north and west, "I think we could reach the water over there." Perhaps a mile upriver it curved westward; after that the bluffs faded to mere hills, easily traversible.

"Why?" wondered Ramza, still smiling. "Feel like a swim?" Ovelia giggled.

"Why not?" she countered, sticking her tongue out at him.

"It's cold, for one thing," he shrugged, gesturing at Ovelia, who nodded. "And I doubt you want me to see you naked."

Alma rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to swim, Ramza. I just want to wade."

He eyed her for a moment, the smile eventually fading. "I guess I wouldn't mind," he decided, then glanced at Ovelia. "What about you?"

She smiled at him, hands folding at her waist. "I'll go if you go."

"Fair enough," he decided, striding back towards Boco and mounting once more.

In moments they were off again, racing along the edge of the bluffs. Alma grinned into the wind, bending low over Heppoko's neck, urging the bird to greater speed as she gradually outdistanced the others. Ovelia shouted something after her, the words lost to the rush of wind and the hammering of claws on stiff ground.

She quickly reached the bend in the river and angled westward, squinting against the low southern sun. Heppoko chirped and warked under her, neck straining forward as though willing herself to run faster.

By the time they reached a low sandy beach, the others were just rounding the bend. While Heppoko was still trotting to a halt, breathing heavily, Alma hopped from the bird's back and made a show of lounging about, looking bored. Though in truth there wasn't much to look at apart from the sand and a few pieces of driftwood near the water, each polished glass-smooth and bark-free by the elements.

"It's about time you two got here," she greeted once the others arrived. Idly examining her fingernails, she glanced blandly up at them. "Taking your time, were you?"

"Whatever," muttered Ramza, sliding to the ground. "Show-off." Ovelia snickered as she dismounted as well.

Concealing a smile, Alma ruffled Heppoko's feathers. "Good girl," she murmured. "We showed them." As the animal blinked brightly back at her, she bent to tug off boots and socks. "It _is_ cold," she realized, frowning, as her toes curled into the damp sand. With a shrug, ignoring the amused look on Ramza's face, she hiked her dress to her knees and strode into the water.

_Oh, damn. Cold._ "The water's actually not too bad," she called back, turning in place to face the others from the calf-deep icewater flowing past her legs. _Cold cold cold. Good God._ "Are either of you going to try it?"

Ramza spent a moment studying her face, then smirked. "No, I'm fine here, I think." She hadn't fooled him, of course.

"I might, though," decided Ovelia. As she hopped awkwardly about, freeing feet from her boots, Ramza opened his mouth, perhaps planning to warn her about the water, but he must have decided against it, for he instead leaned back against Boco with a small smile.

Shortly Ovelia tiptoed into the water, then froze with a gasp, eyes wide. "You... you tricked me," she realized breathlessly, staring accusingly at Alma. "This is... almost like ice."

Alma smiled at the water as she waded carefully around, toeing at rocks half-buried under the sandy bottom. "Now that you mention it," she murmured, "it is a little chilly, isn't it?" _My God, I can't feel a thing down there. Am I already numb?_

Low laughter spun Ovelia around to stare at Ramza. "You knew too, didn't you?" she accused.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he laughed, eyeing her sideways. "It's cold, then, is it?"

Ovelia growled low in her throat, then marched out of the water towards Ramza and seized one of his arms. Despite tugging with all her strength, almost doubling over in her efforts, he barely moved, simply leaning back and keeping his fingers spread wide to keep Ovelia from slipping back into the river herself. She soon seemed to tire of this; abruptly giggling, she stepped towards him and pushed a shoulder, apparently trying to knock him off-balance. Smiling, Ramza avoided her advance easily, even countering by tugging one of her own arms sideways, sending her stumbling away.

_And now they're wrestling,_ observed Alma, mildly disgusted, as a giggling Ovelia assaulted Ramza once more. _Does she know? Does she know what he gave up to come here? I don't want this to end in tears and heartbreak._

Before long he subdued the former queen, twirling her around dancer-like until her back was against his chest, her arms wrapped around her own stomach, wrists firmly in his grasp. Ovelia blinked at this, then lowered her head, cheeks coloring visibly. A lock of golden hair had come loose from her tail and now hung over one eye.

"I'm sorry," murmured Ramza in apparent sincerity, just loud enough for Alma to hear. "I'll warn you next time. It was funny, though, wasn't it?" Releasing her hands, he squeezed her shoulders once and stepped back; Ovelia's face grew redder still, and an odd smile graced her lips.

_Why is he leading her on?_ blinked Alma, shifting her frown to her brother. _Does he even get it? I need to talk to him later. Maybe her, too._

Ramza shifted to meet her gaze. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not anymore," she shrugged. "I'm numb from the knees down." Trying not to shiver, she hurried out of the water and a short distance up the sand, where she turned and dropped to her backside. "Ramza, could you get the food out? It's got to be midday, at least."

"Good idea," he acknowledged, digging into a saddlebag. Beyond him, Ovelia shook herself and seemed to recover, turning around and patting her hair back into place. Every time her eyes shifted towards Ramza, however, she blushed again and glanced away.

Shaking her head, Alma patted her legs dry with her cloak, then pulled socks on. After being in the river, soft wool felt like the warmest blanket, bringing a satisfied smile to her lips.

Ovelia plopped down beside her, doing the same. "It's almost warm out," noted the former queen quietly, "if you stay in the sun, and out of the wind."

Alma laughed softly. "True. Enjoy it while you can."

"I know. I am."

Before Alma could reply, Ramza appeared with bread and cheese, which he distributed before seating himself on the sand behind them. "We should come here more often," he mused. "Or maybe there are some other places in the area that are interesting like this."

Ovelia scooted around to face him. "Issendal says there's a waterfall a little ways downriver from here," she declared. "Maybe half a day away, he said."

Ramza chuckled at this, cutting his eyes sunward. "We're already over half a day away from home."

She grinned back at him. "Some other day, then."

He nodded, eyeing her consideringly, a faint smile on his lips. "That sounds like a good idea."

_This is weird,_ grimaced Alma as she swallowed a chunk of pale cheese. She opened her mouth to interrupt the pair, but then, having nothing to say, closed it again with a shake of her head. _I hope they don't want to stay here too long._

Fortunately neither of the others spoke much more as they ate, though Ovelia seemed to alternate between smiling at the river, the bluffs and Ramza. When the woman finished, she spread arms and legs, flopping back down on the chill sand, lying in the sun. A small smile graced her lips under closed eyes; a few strands of loose golden hair danced in an idle breeze.

_She looks about as relaxed as I've ever seen anyone,_ noted Alma idly, chewing on the last of her bread. _It's a pleasant change, really, given how she was before._

Something drew her eyes to Ramza; glancing his way, she saw him smiling at her, nodding faintly towards Ovelia. His smile was somehow both proud and indulgent, as though the woman were a pet of sorts, a stray bird he'd nursed back to health.

_Is that what she is to you, Ramza?_ wondered Alma, feeling her own smile fade. _A songbird? Are you going to release her now that she's better? What does the bird want?_

His own expression settled back to seriousness, hazel eyes open but unreadable. After a moment he shook his head slightly, attempting to dispel her doubts without knowing exactly what they were.

"I suppose we should go," mumbled Ovelia, "before I fall asleep here."

"Proteus would probably carry you back asleep, though," chuckled Ramza, pushing himself to his feet. "He doesn't care."

"I know, but it's more polite to be awake." Stretching, the former queen sat upright, absently reaching back to shake a few particles of sand from her hair.

Ramza extended a hand down to her. "It's not always necessary to be polite, you know. Your friends will carry you if they need to."

Ovelia froze, staring up at him, before her face melted into a shy, sunny smile which she directed at her lap. After a moment she rested a hand in his and climbed to her feet, still without looking at him.

They were five paces away before she let go of his hand. Neither seemed to notice or care.

_Yes,_ decided Alma, following the pair back to the chocobos. _There's definitely a conversation in his future._

The ride back to the ranch was about as eventful as the ride out, except that as the sun began to set, the wind took its place, tearing bitingly through cloak and clothes alike, reminding them that winter was perhaps days away. Ramza, as usual, seemed not to notice or care, and though Ovelia was shivering visibly by dusk, her mood remained high as ever. _Probably because Ramza's here,_ decided Alma with a wry smile.

On reaching the ranch, Ramza slipped from Boco and headed towards the pen, but Ovelia beat him there on Proteus. "I can take care of the birds," she volunteered.

"Oh, good idea," he acknowledged. "That way I can start a fire inside."

"_That's_ a good idea," countered Ovelia, smiling as she took Boco's reins. Chuckling and shaking his head, Ramza left her there and made for the front door.

Trying not to roll her eyes, Alma hopped to the ground from Heppoko's saddle. "Thanks."

"I don't mind," shrugged the other woman absently, peering intently at one of Boco's eyes.

Nodding slowly, Alma turned and followed after her brother, arms tucked close against the cold. Dry grass slithered against her boots with every step.

Once inside she found him squatted in front of the hearth, carefully stacking kindling for the evening's fire. Face blank in routine concentration, he did not acknowledge her presence as she shuffled to seat herself in a chair beside him.

With all the kindling in place, he set a pair of chopped logs atop it, then reached for the steel; the matches Mustadio had left as a gift had run out long ago. "Got kind of cold on us, didn't it?" he chuckled.

Alma rolled lips between her teeth, considering how to word it. "Ramza?"

"Hmm?" As the silence stretched, he paused, glancing up at her.

Shifting in the chair, she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Ovelia... really looks up to you," she noted quietly. "You know?"

Ramza's eyes went slowly distant, staring at something within. Finally he sighed, setting the tools aside. "Yes," he admitted. "I do know."

"I know we've kind of... already been over this," recalled Alma uncomfortably, "but things have changed since then, so it's possible she might... like you as... more than a friend. At least that's... I don't know. That's how it seems to me."

He stared her in the eye, unsurprised; clearly he'd already considered this. "I'm not assuming anything, Alma," he explained softly. "I'm not taking anything for granted."

"You've thought about this."

His eyes slide absently sideways, towards the door. "I've started to wonder," he agreed. "Sometimes she..." He trailed off, searching for words, then grimaced. "It's weird."

Alma raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes she what?"

"There have been times when I've been... looking at her," he explained slowly, "in ways that... that I probably shouldn't have. It's only happened twice," he protested, holding up a forestalling hand, "and each time I was thinking about something totally different, not paying attention to what I was looking at, but each time, she noticed. And... and I don't think she cared."

Now Alma's other eyebrow climbed. "Oh?"

Ramza shrugged. "Yeah. Nothing either way, like nothing at all had happened. So I wonder, but like I said, I'm not going to assume anything."

_I shouldn't assume anything either._ "So how do _you_ feel about _her?_"

His brow furrowed, his expression going troubled as he frowned at the unlit logs in the hearth. Chewing a lip, he seemed to be avoiding looking in Alma's direction.

Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach. "You like her, don't you," she realized; it was not a question. "You're attracted to her."

Ramza closed his eyes tiredly. "I don't know," he whispered.

_Yes, you do._ "You can tell me," she urged quietly. "You know that."

"Well, it's..." He cut himself off, sighing tightly. "Now that she's not just moping around, I... like spending time with her. She makes me laugh. Makes me feel happy. I feel like... I can trust her, you know? Like she'll never hurt me. I... I don't know." Rolling his shoulders irritably, he returned to his task of starting the fire.

_So she's just like me,_ realized Alma, staring at her lap, _only she's not his sister._ "Ramza."

"What?" His voice was sharp now, impatient; steel cracked flatly against flint.

"What do you want?" Folding fingers together, she toyed absently with the fabric of her dress. "From life."

The cracking stopped for a moment as he hesitated. "I... I came here to be with you," he answered.

_But that was six months ago,_ she countered silently. _What do you want now?_ "Ovelia's been hurt badly," she reminded him softly. "If you're not going to do anything about this, you should just tell her so. I don't want to see her become another--"

"Don't say it."

"Fine," she sighed. "You know what I mean, though."

His face tightened momentarily. "I know," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to have to feel guilty about enjoying her company now that she's finally feeling better."

Despite herself Alma chuckled, swaying where she sat. "That wasn't my goal."

"I know." Smiling faintly, he eyed her sideways, delivering a backhanded slap to her knee. "Your goal should be to get me one of those candies from the kitchen."

Laughing softly, she slipped to her feet. "Fair enough."

* * *

_The sun had set by the time they got out of the shop in Dorter. With only a slash of orange ringing the western half of the heavens, stars were free to twinkle down from the smoky violet above, sparkling for a city, for a world, that didn't know it was supposed to be celebrating. It had been a warm day, one of the first of the spring, a pleasant day simply to walk around in public without fear of hidden enemies. The enemies, most figured, would come later._

_He strolled easily, taking his time, smiling at the crowds, at street vendors and people who just frowned back at him, confused. A few paces ahead strode Meliadoul and Agrias with their heads together, chatting and laughing, but planning, always planning. Alma strolled beside him, smiling as well and for the same reasons; she hadn't needed to come along, not really, but there was a voluntary and unvoiced rule now, one that said they wouldn't part company without a compelling reason._

_Gil and jewels clinked softly in a pair of belt pouches with every step. The shopkeeper had been horrified to see them arrive with so much equipment to sell, sacks and crates full, bristling with swords and daggers, armors and shields, even rods and dictionaries, a campaign's worth of loot from far too many dead. They hadn't needed it all, not by a long shot, but no one had wanted to lose a shield and then be without one, and clearly an extra spear never hurt anyone. The unique items stuck around as well, some more interesting than useful, but all nearly priceless nonetheless. As such the merchant had explained flat-out that he lacked the funds to buy so much all at once, but his eyes wouldn't leave the pile they'd dumped on his floor. In moments he'd disappeared, coming back only an hour later with a chest of gems and no explanation._

_But it had worked. Everyone had walked away happy. What now jingled at his waist was enough to buy a fleet of ships. A keep, perhaps. More than enough for a farm._

_Soon enough they reached the door to the inn; singing and drunken revelry spilled out through the open windows. Laughing at something Agrias had said, Meliadoul pulled the door open, absently adjusting the sword on her belt._

_Nodding her thanks, Agrias started into the inn but then hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder, lips thinned. After a moment she stepped back; a gloved hand darted into his own, dragging him a short distance away._

_He followed along, hiding a smile. A year ago, she would have punched him if he'd tried to take her hand, but now she was doing it to him without thinking._

_Once they were at the corner of the inn front, out of an earshot of the others given the noise about, she released his hand and faced him, arms crossed over her chest. Open worry painted her features in defiance of the usual stoic blandness written there. She had been like that more often lately, showing more emotion; vaguely he wondered if it was because she was relaxing, or if he was just reading her face better._

_"Ramza," she began, frowning thoughtfully; uncharacteristic trepidation colored her oddly-girlish voice. "Since Lavian and Carmen finally met back up with us, I think we're planning to leave tomorrow morning. Do you... do you know what you're going to do yet?"_

_He blinked, smile fading to a sickly anxiety. They'd spoken of this before, but with all the hedging verbiage he'd used to soften the blow, she must have assumed the matter wasn't settled yet. Somehow he dragged up another smile. "Agrias, it would be weird. I'd be the only male there." She and Meliadoul had hatched up a plan to start a school somewhere remote, somewhere in the mountains, where they'd teach girls to fight._

_She laughed, a musical laugh he could listen to forever, and punched his arm playfully. "That was just Meliadoul's idea; she figured boys wouldn't listen to us anyway. If you were there it could be different."_

_Again he felt his smile fade. "Agrias... Alma and I are heading east, to Ordalia."_

_Her face fell, but quickly she smoothed her expression; she was good at that when she needed to be. "Are you sure?" She chuckled unconvincingly. "I don't think the chocobo farm would be any less work than teaching kids." As she gazed at him, a warm night breeze teased a lock of golden hair that had fallen loose from her braid._

_He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I... I can't."_

_Agrias thinned her lips as she studied his face seriously, sapphire eyes twitching this way and that. Then those eyes slid to his own and clouded with the first real pain he'd ever seen there, pain and betrayal. Soon, however, a cold steel took over, the look she usually wore into battle, the look many men had witnessed just moments before leaving the world._

_She didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. Just stood there, staring at him._

_Then, without warning, she shouldered past him, face a grim mask, and stalked past Meliadoul and into the inn. The former Shrine Knight remained there briefly, long enough to give him a rueful shake of her head, then followed her friend inside._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, shuffling forward to let his head thump into the inn's exterior wall. "I'm sorry."_

_Gentle hands touched his shoulders, slid around to hug him from behind. Alma. She didn't say anything either, just held him, providing a comfort only she could give._

_Long moments later she stepped back, ruffling his hair playfully. "Let her cool down," she suggested softly. "Talk to her later. I'm sure she'll..."_

"No!"

Ramza awoke with a start, rolling out of his bed to reach for the sword he no longer kept anywhere near the bed. Blinking for a moment in the inky blackness, he shook the fatigue from his head and strained his ears, glancing blindly about.

It had been Ovelia's voice he'd heard, he realized, though he could hear nothing else coming from her room at the moment. No thumps or crashes or anything, at least; she wasn't throwing a tantrum, nor was the house being attacked. A nightmare, perhaps.

In her own bed a few paces away, Alma's sheets shifted. "Ramza?" Her voice was husky with sleep. "Are you awake? Did you hear that?"

"Ovelia," he explained absently. _What time is it?_ Glancing towards the closed shutters, he spotted no sign of moonlight in the tiny gap between them. _That means... a few hours before dawn, at most._

"Is she okay?" wondered Alma groggily.

"Probably." _Just a nightmare. She's fine._ Shaking his head, he climbed back into his own bed; the blankets were still invitingly warm.

"Okay," acknowledged Alma foggily. "At least there's nnmmmnnn..." She trailed off into incoherent mumbling and then silence as she fell back asleep.

_Will you be here?_

Ramza screwed his eyes shut, ignoring the memory of the woman's voice. _She can't want me to help. It's the middle of the night. I can't just creep into her room; she'd kill me._ His heart still pounded in his ribs, pushed to excitement by conditioned reflexes he hoped never to use again.

_Will you help?_

He grimaced, teeth bared. _It would be silly. What could I even say, anyway?_ Pausing, he sighed, shifting under the weight of his blankets. _I... I suppose I could just knock, at least. She'll tell me to go away, and then I'll have done everything she asked for._ Running a hand through his hair, he pondered that.

_Of course._

Sighing, he rolled to his feet once more, shuffling carefully to the door. Alma made no sound; she was probably already dreaming of racing him into the ground again.

In the hallway at least there was a ghost of moonlight to illuminate the contours of the floor and walls. Stepping carefully towards the next door, a short distance away, he hovered there uncertainly. This was something totally new, something foreign and therefore intimidating. _If I mess this up,_ he realized, _it could break what we have now. She might not trust me so much anymore, might go back to being angry._

Eventually, though, he sighed again. _If she's awake, she's already heard me walk this far. If she's not, it doesn't matter anyway._ Swallowing, he rapped a knuckle gently on her door. "Ovelia?" Unlatched, the thing swung slightly open at the disturbance.

"Ramza?" Her voice was small, subdued.

"Are you okay?" He chewed a lip and waited, trying not to frown.

Long moments passed in the night's crisp silence. Eventually sheets stirred within. "Can... will you talk to me?"

"Sure." He blinked, shifting his feet. "Do you... uh, do you want me to come in there, or mayb--"

"Yes."

Sucking breath silently through his teeth, he pushed the door open. Her room, with a south window, boasted at least as much moonlight as the hallway, showing him clearly the shape of the bed, and of her curled up on it, her back to the door. Still moving as quietly as he could, for no real reason, he shuffled to the side of her bed and sat behind her, gingerly, prepared to jump up at the slightest disturbance. "What is it?"

She shifted, turning her head slightly in his direction. "We're... still in Ordalia, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"And Delita is still in Ivalice?"

He closed his eyes momentarily, swallowing. "He is."

Again she moved, linen whispering; soon a warm hand gripped his own, making him twitch. "What would happen," she asked softly, "if he came here, do you think?"

"Came... after you?" he managed. Then he blinked. _This is silly. If she was going to be mad at me, she already would be. This is fine._

"Yes."

Ramza considered that briefly. "Well, I'd make sure he didn't get you," he decided. "Or Alma." If it ever came to that, not that it would, Delita would be the type to want leverage. "I'd grab you and we could rush outside. Once we got to the chocos, he'd never be able to catch us." _How? How did he hurt her so badly she's waking from nightmares half a year later?_

She remained silent for a time, half on her side and half on her back, eyes nothing but shadows staring up at him. Spills of hair radiated from her head along the pillow. "You would keep me safe?"

"I'd keep you safe," he promised, squeezing her hand. "You don't have anything to worry about, here."

For a moment longer she gazed at him, but then rolled her head back to the side, facing the wall. "You're right," she whispered. "I'm... it's... silly, isn't it? I just get afraid sometimes, I guess."

He nodded, though she couldn't see the gesture. "Nightmare?"

Her lips curved; fingers tightened gently on his own. "Not the first."

With nothing to say, he hesitated, then continued to hold his tongue when Ovelia seemed not to mind. Long moments stretched even longer in a silence broken only by two sets of breathing. Eventually she shifted back to gaze up at him, but still said nothing.

Later, when he wondered if perhaps she'd fallen back asleep, she lifted his hand, pressing the back against one smooth cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.

Fingers tightening instinctively, he nodded. "I'm here," he reminded her. "I'm always here." Despite his serious words he felt no heat in his cheeks, no tingling in his throat. She wouldn't find the sentiment excessive, he knew; she needed it.

Giving her hand another quick squeeze, he slipped to his feet. Ovelia obligingly rolled back to face the opposite wall, sighing contentedly.

Once out in the hallway, after closing the door behind him, he spent a moment frowning thoughtfully at the latch. Then, giving his head a quick shake, he headed back into his own room, where Alma was clearly still asleep; he knew her breathing almost as well as his own.

Quietly he slipped back into his blankets and pulled them up to his chin. His sister's voice from earlier in the day prodded him, bringing a scowl to his face. _If you're not going to do anything about this, you should just tell her so._

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tugged the blankets over his head. _Tell her what? I don't even know what she wants yet, what she expects._

Ramza sighed, waiting for his body to heat the bed back up. Warmth came quickly; sleep was much slower.

* * *

The next day, Ovelia awoke at dawn, feeling pleasantly warm. Ramza was gone, of course -- she was still surprised he'd found the nerve to visit her at all, in her room, in the middle of the night -- but his presence, solid and reassuring, remained fresh in her memory, as did the feel of his hand on her own and against her cheek. _He has warm hands,_ she recalled, stretching. 

Wiping a smile from her face, she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed. A few moments with soap and a basin half-full of icy water left her clean and quite awake, so without further ado she made for the kitchen and started getting ready to cook; it was her day, today.

In moments Alma appeared as well, still dressed in her nightclothes, rumpled red linen with little white flowers sewn here and there. "Hey," she greeted groggily, shuffling into the kitchen, blinking against morning sunlight filtering through the windows. "You have tea on already?"

"Right there," nodded Ovelia, gesturing with her elbow at the teapot on the stove. "It's probably almost ready."

"Thanks." Smiling sleepily, Alma turned to leave, then paused. "Oh," she murmured. "Are you okay? I think I remember hearing you last night. We were worried."

Ovelia blinked at the other woman. _She... doesn't know Ramza was with me,_ she realized vaguely. "It was just a dream," she explained. "I'm fine." _Do I tell her?_ Shifting her feet, she cleared her throat and continued. "Ramza came and talked to me."

Alma frowned vaguely. "Oh. That's... well, good."

"Yeah," agreed Ovelia, shifting her feet. _What does she think of all this, anyway?_

Silence stretched. Eventually Alma offered a vague smile and shuffled back towards the washroom, out of sight.

Shrugging, Ovelia returned her attention to the morning meal, finishing it in perhaps an hour. Slipping woolen mitts over her hands, she placed a few steaming trays on the table before the quietly-chatting siblings already seated there, then joined them.

The meal proceeded quickly, as they often did. Alma did most of the talking, though it was to Ramza that Ovelia gave most of her attention; he grew uncomfortable so easily she felt the need to reassure him somehow, to let him know that what had happened during the night was within the boundaries. Though at first he seemed to be avoiding her gaze, perhaps sensing that she was willing it otherwise, eventually he made eye contact long enough for her to give him a warm smile. After that his posture relaxed somewhat, though why he'd been worried in the first place, she could not say. _Does he think I'll bite, or what?_

Afterwards Alma helped in the cleanup, falling somewhat more quiet now that Ramza had wandered off to resume his work on the new kitchen table. Ovelia elected to leave well enough alone, speaking little as they made short work of the dishes.

Once everything was in order, she headed quickly to her room, shutting the door as she did most days now; the tokens of gratitude she'd been making for the siblings were almost done, and she itched to finish them. Dragging the box out from under her bed, she grabbed the gifts and settled down to work, continuing throughout the day, ignoring the hunger growling in her stomach during the afternoon.

Eventually, once the angle of the sunlight outside suggested it was nearing dusk, she finished. Standing and stepping back to appreciate her work, she folded arms over her chest and studied with mute satisfaction the two blankets draped over her own bed. Both were made of wool, largely black and white with repeating red decorations, soaring birds of prey on Ramza's and twining flowers on Alma's. Each stretched a little longer than a person's height, sporting grey borders along the edges... which were not entirely rectangular, she saw. Ramza's wasn't even close; she'd done that one first.

"Oh... God _damn_ it!" she shouted, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. After a moment she sighed, slumping somewhat and shaking her head, unable to glance away from the blankets. _How did that even happen, anyway?_ she wondered blankly. _I was in a hurry, I suppose. So bent on getting them done I didn't look at them from afar._

"Ovelia?" came Alma's concerned voice from the other side of the door. "Everything okay in there?"

"Yeah," she sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "I'm fine."

"Okay," acknowledged the other woman. Fading footsteps wandered back towards the common room.

_Two weeks,_ lamented Ovelia, grimacing at what she'd wrought. _Two weeks cramped up in here, making those things. What now? Make a new pair?_ Pondering that briefly, she made a sour face. _No, they've been wondering what I've been up to for long enough; I should have something to show for it. Better than spending a month just to make two blankets. I might as well just buy some,_ she decided sadly.

Lips tight, she pulled open the door and slipped out into the hall, tugging the thing shut again behind her. Shuffling out into the common room, she spotted Alma seated in an armchair, sipping tea; sparing the woman a nod, Ovelia angled into the kitchen.

"Hey," called Alma quietly. "What happened?"

Pausing in the doorway, she turned, summoning a rueful smile from somewhere. "Nothing. I just realized how stupid I can be."

The other woman's face creased in worry. "What? Why?"

"I'll explain later," decided Ovelia. "After we eat." When her friend said nothing, she continued on into the kitchen.

Perhaps two hours later, after cooking, eating and cleaning up again, she folded hands at her waist and addressed the siblings just making themselves comfortable in the common room. "As you know, I've... been in my room a lot lately," she began uncomfortably, drawing their eyes to her. "I wanted to thank you both for putting up with me ever since I came here, so I wanted to make something for each of you, but they... didn't really... turn out the way I'd planned."

The others exchanged curious glances. "What didn't?" wondered Alma after a moment. Between them, a fire crackled warmly in the hearth.

"Blankets," she answered, shifting her feet. "They're not really... I don't know." She sighed. "I'll either try again, or maybe just buy some in Hystet."

"What's wrong?" asked Ramza, worry written clearly across his features. "How bad can they really be?"

She managed a smile. "They're not very straight," she explained softly.

Again the pair exchanged a wordless glance. "Can we see?" wondered Ramza diffidently.

Ovelia bit a lip, trying to ignore the black embarrassment swirling in her middle. _I... can't say no to him,_ she realized. Tearing her gaze away from his, she stared at the floor and nodded, turning towards her room. "This way."

Two pairs of footsteps followed her into the room, where enough lamplight spilled through the doorway to illuminate the blankets clearly. "That's what I made," she sighed, shuffling aside to give the siblings room. "The one on the left is Ramza's."

"You're that upset about these?" blinked Alma, stepping forward to finger her own blanket. "They're fine."

"Look at the other one," suggested Ovelia quietly.

As she spoke, Ramza was lifting his own, inspecting it in the warm lamplight. "This?" he murmured. "What's wrong with it?"

"Look at the edges," she sighed. "It's not rectangular at all. It's just sort of... a blob."

"It's pretty, though," he countered seriously. After a moment he swung the thing about, draping it over his shoulders. "And it's warm. That's what a blanket is supposed to do, right?"

"Well... yes," she agreed, clearing her throat. "But it's... don't you see?"

A grinning Alma poked her shoulder. "Stop worrying. We don't care."

Ramza nodded agreement, thoughtfully fingering the edge of his gift. "I don't think anyone's ever made anything for us before," he mused. "Not for me, at least." Shuffling forward, he slipped a blanket-clad arm around her back for a half-hug. "Thank you."

Suppressing a fluttering warmth within, Ovelia fixed him with an intense frown. "You... you want them anyway?" she clarified, darting a glance in Alma's direction to include her in the question.

"Why wouldn't we?" chuckled Alma.

A corner of Ramza's lips quirked in a small smile. "Of course we do. It was very thoughtful of you to make them."

"That's true," agreed Alma. "Thank you."

Glancing between the two, Ovelia nodded uncertainly. "You're... welcome."

The siblings smiled as one, then turned to slip out of the room. Ramza paused in the doorway, however, a warm silhouette glancing back at her. "You're still worrying," he observed, chuckling. "Really, don't. I like the blanket, and I'm glad you're feeling better." Shadow lines curved in a smile, and after a moment he followed after his sister.

Ovelia stared after him for a time, belatedly realizing she was smiling as well. _He's so... sweet,_ she reflected. _He doesn't take anything for granted at all, does he? I suppose that's why I..._

She paused there, startled, as understanding dawned; warmth returned to her chest, her cheeks. Eventually she giggled, bending to put her knitting things away. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to act.


	8. Chapter 8: Swordplay

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Eight: Swordplay

Days slipped past. Another layer of snow fell, this time calf-deep, followed by a cold snap which ensured it would stay around for some time. Though the house grew colder, and most mornings found ice rather than water in the washbasins, the chocobos seemed to enjoy the weather, fluffing around through the snow in the pen like eager children.

With the blankets done, Ovelia found herself with rather more idle time than she was accustomed to having. Cooking and caring for the birds provided what little work she needed to do, so after a day of twitchy boredom she took to knitting a blanket for herself; she could use the practice, she decided, on someone to whom she wouldn't need to explain why the finished product looked like it did. Ramza wouldn't care, she knew, but it seemed practical not to rely on his patience without a real need.

As she pondered that, seated in the common room to work on the thing, Ramza himself pushed his way into the house. Bundled up in coat and scarf, cheeks flushed from the chill, he quickly hipped the door shut and stomped caked snow from his boots. "Afternoon," he greeted brightly, tugging gloves off to rub his hands briskly together. "It's cold out," he added, tugging boots off, as though this were not already obvious.

Ovelia smiled uncertainly back at him, knitting needles frozen in her hands. _Say something! _"Um... it looks like it," she agreed weakly.

Ramza grinned, shrugging out of a snow-dusted overcoat and hanging it on a hook near the door. Turning back, he paused, visibly examining her. "So. Just sitting here by the fire? That sounds pleasant." Suiting actions to words, he threw himself into a chair opposite her, on the other side of the fire, and exhaled tiredly.

She giggled, averting her gaze and avoiding the urge to toy with her hair. "It is," she confirmed after a moment.

He didn't answer, merely smiling faintly as he held hands out to the hearth blaze. Silence stretched, punctuated only by the occasional sound of popping wood.

Ovelia licked her lips, staring at the motionless knitting work in her lap. In the days since she'd identified exactly how she felt about Ramza, she'd found herself curiously unable to do anything about it. This was different from before; this was not like flirting just because he happened to be the nearest man who fit the criteria. Now it was because he was _Ramza_. There was little room for failure; if she managed to drive him away somehow, that would be the end of it.

"Hey," he began suddenly, his voice low as he spared her a sidelong glance. "Is that a new blanket?

She blinked for a time. "Oh! Um... no, it's... it's the same one. The one for me."

His brow creased in a frown. "Really? It looks different."

"Well, it's... farther along now," she explained helpfully, gazing thoughtfully down at the thing.

"Ah," he acknowledged. "That makes sense."

"Yeah." Rolling lips between her teeth, she stared at the unfinished blanket, little more than a tangle of black and yellow, and tried not to grimace. _This isn't going very well._ Heated embarrassment tickled her insides.

Ramza fell silent again, and Ovelia squeezed her eyes shut. Alma had made a valid, if misguided, point earlier; she could not simply throw herself at the man and see what happened. _I have to be... tasteful,_ she reminded herself. _See if he's even interested first. Though if he is... what then? _It seemed a silly question, but there was no easy answer, not that she could see. _If we pair up, what happens to Alma? The sleeping arrangements?_

"Ovelia?" Ramza's quiet voice cut through her worries. "Are you okay?"

Twitching, she returned her attention to him. "Hmm?"

He studied her with open concern. "You just look... distressed."

Staring back at him, she surprised herself by giggling. _I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself, aren't I?_ "It's nothing," she assured him. "I feel good. Better than... a few moments ago." _Before you were here_, she almost added before she could catch herself. Heat burned again at her cheeks at the admission, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

He tilted his head slightly in consideration, perhaps hearing what she meant in addition to what she said. Slowly the exaggerated worry slipped from his face, leaving only a narrow, almost shrewd intensity as he studied her openly and without fear. Firelight danced warmly on half his face, on tousled golden hair.

Eventually he nodded and glanced away, coloring faintly. "I see," he acknowledged.

Ovelia likewise dropped her gaze, fidgeting briefly with the knitting needles. Something light fluttered within; she'd never seen him stare so frankly at her. "It seems warm in here," she murmured idly, plucking at the wrists of her dress. "Doesn't it? I may have put too much wood on the fire."

"I think it's nice," countered Ramza mildly, though shortly he chuckled. "I did just come in from outside, though."

She echoed his laugh nervously. "Yeah. It's... cold out, I suppose."_I'm not very good at this, am I? We're back where we started._

"Yeah." He shifted in his chair. "It's pretty, though. Sunny."

_I can't believe we're talking about the weather,_ she sighed. Choosing not to embarrass herself further, she remained silent, finally retrieving the needles she'd dropped in her lap at some point. After a few stitches, however, she found herself pausing to glance furtively at Ramza, but he was only sitting there a few paces away, staring into the fire.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Ovelia frowned at her knitting, tugging the loops perhaps harder than was necessary, as though a brisk and forceful manner could dispel the anxious tingling afflicting her chest and throat. _I'm a grown woman_, she reminded herself. _This shouldn't be... I shouldn't..._ Trailing off, she eyed him once more, but this time he was staring back at her.

She froze, barely blinking; wide hazel eyes gazed back at her, seemingly caught. Before long, though, he twitched, baring teeth in an apologetic smile.

Giggling awkwardly in acknowledgement, she cleared her throat and forced her attention downward, to the growing blanket in her lap. _I'm going to knit this thing into a knot if I'm not paying attention. Calm down, woman._ As she worked, she could feel his eyes on her from time to time, but she glanced up only once, to smile at him; too many uncomfortable silent exchanges could drive him out of the room and she didn't want that. _Of course, having him here is almost as bad._ A rapid pulse fluttered in her fingertips as she worked, keeping her skin tingling, ready to break into sweat.

Eventually the door opened to admit a windblown and snow-dusted Alma. "Oh, it's warm in here," she murmured happily, her face obviously stiff from the cold.

_Thank God_, sighed Ovelia silently, slumping slightly in her chair. Eyeing Ramza sideways, she watched him smile in warm greeting at his sister. With a shake of her head she lifted a wrist to her forehead, wiping away sweat that had beaded there. _This is... much harder than I thought_.

"How was your ride?" prompted Ramza curiously.

Alma laughed ruefully as she hung her coat next to his. "I was planning to go to that one waterfall Ovelia mentioned," she answered, "but I turned back less than halfway there. It was too windy."

Ramza frowned at this, turning a suddenly-considering gaze on Ovelia, who blinked uncomfortably back at him. After a moment he nodded. "Well, next time go on a more pleasant day."

Alma snickered. "Thanks. I wouldn't have figured that out on my own."

He chuckled as well, returning his attention to the fire. After the smile faded, however, a pensive, almost preoccupied expression remained on his face.

Ovelia studied him discreetly, then directed a sour twist of her lips at the blanket in her lap. _Not much flirting time available with her here_, she mused. _Not that I was doing much with it anyway_. "Alma," she called softly, "are you going to start cooking soon? I can help."

The other woman glanced at her in surprise, and Ovelia fought the heat rising in her cheeks; it was uncommon to volunteer for such a thing before the cooking had even begun. "Probably," she shrugged. "I was thinking stew, since we have that mutton that needs to get eaten."

_Mutton_, echoed Ovelia silently, nodding. Lately she'd been none too fond of meat, but there was little else to eat out here.

Alma, catching her expression, quirked a smile. "Or I can prepare it myself, if you want."

Ovelia chuckled, waving away the offer. "No, I'll help. Just let me know before you start. I'm... going to take a nap, I think." The alternative, sitting out in the common room, trying and failing to catch Ramza's eye, would likely prove too frustrating. She'd need a... a strategy, perhaps, before attempting it again. Or at least some time to think beforehand.

"That's fine." With all her winter gear doffed, Alma strode briskly to their shared bedroom to change.

Rising, fingers pressed uncertainly against her stomach, Ovelia followed the other woman down the hallway, quickly pushing open the door to her own room. In the doorway she paused, glancing back; she could barely see Ramza around the corner, seated in his chair, peering after her.

Smiling shyly, she ducked into the room and toed the door shut with a click. Once inside, the silence echoed stuffily, the room seeming disappointingly cold so far from Ramza. And the fire. Lips thinned, Ovelia kicked off her slippers and slid into bed, hoping to find some measure of calm in dreams.

* * *

After eating and cleaning up, Alma retrieved the book she'd recently picked up in Hystet, a leather-bound volume detailing the general history of Ordalia. It made sense that at least one of the three of them should know it, she reasoned, given that they were arguably Ordalians themselves now. The crisp pages within detailed a familiar theme, an endless series of rash personalities and sad mistakes; one could have believed it a chronicle of Ivalice instead, with different names. 

As she read, Ovelia sat beside her, knitting, while Ramza busied himself with a block of wood and a knife; he was trying to pick up whittling. Though, in truth, she was not certain how much he learned or accomplished with the number of surreptitious sideways glances he and Ovelia directed at one another. Occasionally they did so at the same moment, making unintentional eye contact which they would generally both pretend hadn't happened.

Flipping a page in her book, Alma tried to smooth her scowl. _What it is now with these two? I can barely keep up with their nonsense._ Part of her wished idly that they'd just talk it out and get it over with. _But that would probably just make things even worse_, she reflected grumpily, _knowing them_. Rolling her eyes, she shifted her seat in the armchair and focused herself back on the book.

Later, when the fire had reduced itself to a pile of smoldering red embers, Ramza set his wood block aside and stood, stretching. "I'm tired," he muttered, glancing between Alma and Ovelia. "I think I'm off to bed."

"That's a good idea," acknowledged Alma, marking her page with a ribbon and squeezing the book shut. Glancing up at her brother, she studied him briefly, but he was just blinking back at her. "If we stay up any later, we'll sleep too late," she explained.

"True," sighed Ovelia, carefully folding her knitting up and tucking it under her chair. "I'm cooking tomorrow morning anyway, aren't I?"

"I'd hope so," murmured Alma, and the other woman chuckled. Smiling faintly to herself, she followed Ramza into their room, watching as he stared stiffly ahead, obviously trying not to shoot Ovelia another glance as he retired.

Once into their moonlit bedroom, she heeled the door shut. "Don't look," she instructed, slipping out of her dress and into nightclothes, though she knew he'd keep his eyes to himself anyway; this was very nearly a nightly ritual. Once dressed, she tugged the ribbon out of her hair and sat on her bed with a brush, intending to tug the knots out.

A rustling sound reached her ears while Ramza changed behind her. As he finished, soft footsteps shuffled along the cold floorboards until his arms found her shoulders. "Good night," he murmured.

Alma paused, turning her head to acknowledge him. "Ramza?"

"Hmm?" Sheets whispered against one another as he slipped into his own bed.

Her lips twisted distastefully. "I don't mean to be a pest about this," she began softly, "but it seems like something is happening between you and Ovelia again."

The noise behind her ceased. "Um... what do you mean?"

Chuckling, she twisted about to face him; he stared warily back at her, propped up on his elbows. "What do I mean?" she repeated, frowning. "You two were trying not to stare at each other all night."

Ramza gazed at her for a moment, moonlight silvering his eyes, then sighed at his legs. "She... I think she likes me," he explained. "I think you were right."

Lips tight, Alma stared at him, through him, then shifted her listless gaze to the brush in her hand. "Why?" she whispered. "What makes you say that?"

He chuckled silently, swaying. "She gave me this... weird look earlier, and I can't think of any other way to interpret it."

Nodding minutely, Alma set the brush carefully aside, finding herself unable to meet his gaze. "So... what are you going to do?"

Ramza shifted. "What do you think I should do?"

Her lips quirked without humor. "What do you _want_ to do?"

"Well," he muttered, "you were right about one thing; I don't want her to be another Agrias. But she's... I..." He trailed off, sighing again. "She's such a sweet person, Alma. She's never had a chance to be happy, really. I want to give her that chance, not crush it. But..." Pausing, he seemed to search for words. "But I won't," he continued in a quiet monotone, "if you don't want me to. I came here to be with you."

Alma squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden burning. Long moments passed before she trusted herself to speak again. "You don't..." Her voice caught, and she stopped to swallow. "Ramza... please don't do that for me."

"Why not?" he countered softly. "We promised each other we'd come here."

"But that was so that we could be happy," she recalled in a whisper. "Not so that we could be alone. It doesn't help either of us if you two make yourselves miserable." _I'm going to lose him either way,_ she realized bleakly. _Either to Ovelia or to my own selfishness. _"Do what you want to do," she implored. "Please."

"You say that," he acknowledged flatly, "but you don't fool me. I know you'll be upset if I pair up with Ovelia."

For some reason Alma felt her lips twitch in a faint smile. "But I'd get over it," she added. "You'd still be here, wouldn't you?" Opening her eyes again, she spared him a sidelong glance.

Ramza nodded slowly, seriously. "I would. After everything, Alma, you and I are... chained together. I couldn't leave here even if I wanted to."

She chuckled at this image, finally retrieving her brush and beginning idly to pull it through her hair. "Don't worry about me," she advised. "I'm a grown woman; I'll live."

Silence reigned briefly before Ramza sighed again, wiping hands down his face. "I need to talk to her," he decided aloud. "I need to... see what she thinks of all this. See if I'm maybe making it all up or what."

"Yes, you do," agreed Alma wryly. "Talk to her soon. Make up your mind soon. Drawing this out helps no one."

He grunted, flopping back against his pillow. "I think I'm going to go out riding with her," he murmured. "Next time it's your day to cook. Assuming she wants to go."

_She will._ "Oh, just go tomorrow," she muttered. "I can cook again."

"I doubt she'd let you," countered Ramza.

Alma made a sour face. "True. Then go to sleep and worry about it the day after."

She'd hoped for a laugh out of him, but he merely nodded, staring at the ceiling. "I will. Thank you, Alma."

"Don't mention it." She said no more, and he did likewise; soon his breath came with the uninhibited regularity of sleep.

Shaking her head silently, she rose to put the brush on her dresser, then burrowed into her blankets, curling up on her side to face the window. It was good to see Ramza owning up to his desires, finally; though he hadn't shed any tears for Agrias' departure, Alma had, for him. That potential relationship had not threatened her much, however; her brother and the Holy Knight had never really shared anything intimate, that she knew of. They'd just been two people who'd traveled together for a long time, and who appeared to find one another attractive.

_Not like Ovelia, though_, she sighed. She was certain Ramza had never thought of the former queen in such a fashion until recently, but the two of them were connected on a very personal level, now. He'd saved her life at least once, possibly twice; he hadn't been very clear about what happened down at the pond, but she had her suspicions, and then there was the bandage. They seemed to get along well, seemed to trust one another completely, seemed to make one another happy when the awkwardness wasn't getting in the way.

_She's so much like me,_ reflected Alma,_ at least to him._ In retrospect, she supposed she'd been worried that the portion of his heart marked off for "Alma" would be split in two if Ovelia were allowed in, but after he'd offered to deny the woman just to please his sister... it didn't seem so important. _It's silly to worry about her_, she concluded, hugging the blankets closer around herself. _Anyway, I like Ovelia. It's not like he's pairing up with some random shrew he met at a tavern. I should be glad._

Realizing she was smiling slightly, she smoothed the expression and let her eyes slide shut. Sleep shortly found her.

* * *

The next day found Ramza on the roof of the house, straddling the apex, one arm around the chimney to keep from falling. He had two reasons for being there; for one, the chimney really needed to be fixed -- wind had started howling through where one of the stones had fallen out -- but he also needed time away from Ovelia and her shy, affectionate eyes. 

Lips thinned, he shook his head as he applied stiff mortar to the two rocks he'd found below to replace the one missing one. Already this was his second time up here; the first time, the mortar had frozen before he could finish, so now he kept the second batch huddled in his coat for the warmth.

_There_, he decided, smoothing the last of it over the stones. It was obviously an unskilled job, but it was far above the ground, on the side facing the rest of the roof; if Alma wanted it better, he'd be happy to hand her the mortar and trowel and show her the way to the ladder.

Dropping the tool unceremoniously into the container, he set the thing carefully aside, into the crusty snow behind him, then stood, both arms wrapped around the chimney. The thing was drafty, inside, so he had hopes of being able to rig something up to keep cold air from spilling down into the common room when there wasn't a fire lit. As he studied it now, though, that seemed unlikely; smoke from within was already funneled through through four rusty iron tubes, keeping the amount of open space to a minimum.

_Great_, he sighed, seating himself back on the roof, though after a moment he shrugged. Perhaps simply repairing the hole would serve well enough. _I guess I'll see._

Grabbing the mortar again, he shuffled carefully along the peak of the roof towards the seam over the kitchen area, then slid down to where his ladder still stood. Though hard snow covered the rungs, his descent proved safe enough, and once on the ground he wandered some distance into the woods to scrape out the excess mortar.

After replacing the ladder and tools in the shed near the chocobo pen, he ducked into the house only to find Ovelia knitting by the fire again. Today she'd chosen to wear a dress of plain and muted red, a hue that seemed to suit her.

She glanced up in surprise as he entered, then smiled warmly, dark eyes glittering happily. "Hi," she greeted, folding hands over the blanket in her lap. "I was worried about you when you slid around up there, but I looked out and you hadn't fallen, so I stopped worrying."

He chuckled, tugging boots off and stepping into the room. "I'm going to go to Hystet," he declared, "to get food and things. Do you want to come along?"

Ovelia blinked at him. "Oh!" she acknowledged, then hesitated, frowning at the fire and her knitting.

Ramza smiled; she wanted to come along, but also didn't want to leave the comfort of the house. "If you don't, that's fine. We can... actually, I was going to see if you want to go out riding tomorrow. To that waterfall Alma didn't reach yesterday."

The former queen smiled. "She wants to try it again?"

His smile faltered. "I was thinking we'd... go by ourselves. Just you and me."

Ovelia's lips parted and she stared at him, wide-eyed; firelight danced warmly across her face as the silence stretched. Eventually the fire popped, however, and she twitched, visibly recovering from whatever trance had gripped her. "What about Alma?" she countered, anxious worry creasing her features.

Lips twisted, Ramza shook his head. "Don't worry. I've already explained this to her, but I just... I wanted to talk to you. And wouldn't it be nice to see the waterfall in winter?"

Her eyes somehow managed to widen further, though after a moment she chuckled, relaxing only fractionally. "It does sound pleasant," she admitted softly, glancing away. "What did you want to talk about, though?"

"Well, just... things," he answered uncomfortably. _I'll bet you already know what things._ "Do you want to go?"

"I'll go," she decided somewhat breathily, eyes sliding towards him and darting away again. A faint color suffused her cheeks.

_God, I hope this doesn't last much longer_, he sighed, nodding and shifting his feet. _I suppose that's why we're doing this thing, though. _"Then I'm going to get the money," he decided, "and head to town. Happy knitting."

Ovelia giggled. "Thank you."

* * *

That night passed slowly, as slow as the stars etching out their leisurely arcs on the celestial stage above. Ovelia was not certain how much she managed to sleep, but instead drifted between waking anxiety and shallow dozing until dawn greyed the line between her shutters. 

Sighing in resignation, she threw back the covers and sat upright, swinging feet towards the floor. Nerves fluttered sickeningly in her stomach, the familiar touch of fear, though she'd never felt it directed at Ramza before. _This is silly,_ she scolded herself firmly. _It's nothing big, just a... just a ride in the snow. I trust Ramza._ The fear, of course, didn't leave; it was not Ramza she was afraid of, so much as failure.

Abruptly she chuckled, shaking her head, watching long locks sway towards her lap with the motion. In a way, this was worse than it ever had been with Delita; he'd been so strong, so in control, that the only thing to fear had been his will. Ramza, on the other hand, whether by choice or happenstance, had left some measure of control to her, allowing for the possibility of some colossal mistake on her part. _But that's life,_ she reminded herself. _It's much better than the alternative anyway._

Pushing herself smoothly to the floor, she grimaced at the chill of the floorboards, as she did every morning, and proceeded to dress, choosing the warmest clothes she could find. That meant breeches today, one of the two pairs in her possession; whoever had dreamed up dresses divided for riding had not done so with icy wind in mind. Once she was satisfied the things would stay where they belonged, a pair of heavy shirts went over her torso, and moments later she was sprawled in an armchair in the common room.

Shortly Ramza strode out of his bedroom, alert and clear-eyed; for some reason Ovelia had always thought he'd be the sleepy type in the mornings, but he seldom was. "Hey," he greeted warmly. "Ready to ride?"

"I haven't prepared anything yet," she admitted, hands folding across her stomach as the fluttering there grew. "I only just got up."

He nodded, striding for the kitchen. "What sounds good to you for food? I guess there's only so much we can easily carry, though."

Lips thinning, Ovelia rose to her feet, shuffling a short distance after him. "That yellow cheese is good," she mused softly, "and... maybe some wine, for the chill."

Pausing at the pantry entrance, Ramza shot an apologetic glance over his shoulder. "Wine only makes you feel warmer; it actually makes you colder."

"But it'll stay liquid," she pointed out, nodding towards the door. "It won't freeze like water will."

"True," he acknowledged after a moment, blinking at her for a time before finally disappearing into the pantry. Muted thumps spoke to him rummaging through their foodstocks.

Hiding a smile, Ovelia leaned against a wall and waited. She'd only seem him drink wine on three occasions in the months they'd lived together, though she herself took a glass most days with the evening meal. _I could probably... how did Alma put it?... drink him under the table_, she reflected. _She could too, I suppose._

Shortly she stirred, pursing lips. "Hey," she called quietly. "I'm going to get the chocobos ready."

"Okay," came his absent reply. "I'll be out in a moment."

Turning even as he was speaking, she grabbed a heavy coat from near the door, followed by gloves, boots, a knit cap and a scarf, then headed out into the dawn chill. Trampled snow crumpled further under every footstep, protesting squeakily as she made her way towards the choco pen. Only a few fleecy clouds hung overhead, smeared across the western sky, hazing the few stars still visible there.

Unlatching the gate, she slipped inside, acknowledging Yupitell's greeting wark with a smile. Threading between a handful of birds just now waking, she found Boco and Proteus preening themselves a short distance apart. "Good morning," she offered to the animals, earning herself a purring chirp from her mount.

Still smiling, Ovelia retrieved her cold-stiff saddle from where it hung on the fence and fitted the thing to Proteus, followed by tack and harness. Once finished, she did the same to Ramza's, finding herself nearly done as he approached from the house.

"I think I'm ready," he murmured as he drew near, breath puffing before his face, eyes squinting off towards the rising sun. "Are you?"

"Just about," she answered, tugging a few straps tight on Boco before buckling them into place. "There."

Biting a glove to pull it off, Ramza unwrapped a little bundle in his other hand, revealing a pair of honey-cakes she'd made the night before. "I got these for us, too," he explained, pulling them apart. "For now, before we start moving."

"Oh. Thank you," she acknowledged, accepting one of the cakes from him and biting into it. They ate quickly and in silence, and in moments Ovelia licked glaze residue inelegantly from her fingers; she had no desire to stuff them back into gloves sticky.

Smiling at Boco, Ramza gripped the bird's hanging reins and headed slowly for the gate. "Do you remember where we're going?" he called back over his shoulder.

She nodded, following with Proteus. "Just east of south, through those woods until we get to the edge and the tree split by lightning, then straight south until the river." Once outside, she closed the gate again, making certain the icy latch clicked into place, then climbed atop her chocobo.

Ramza, already mounted on Boco, waited for her, then turned and began loping off down the hill. Quickly Ovelia caught up with him, then slowed to ride at his side, face down against the wind of their travel.

_This is it_, she realized distantly as they angled southeast, heading towards a point south of Hystet, the origin of Issendal's directions. _Just the two of us. It's not so bad, really_. Though, she added wryly, with no chance to speak short of shouting over the running birds, there could be no awkward conversation.

Shortly they reached the edge of a forest, or a wood; she had little idea how far it extended, what it properly ought to be called. Slowing the chocos, they slipped between skeletal tree trunks and began winding through it, creating a path through the minimal snowy underbrush. The sun continued its ascent, turning the western clouds a bright peach and then a more mundane white as dawn turned into day. With sunlight came an accompanying warmth, more than she had expected given the cold weather recently.

As her face behind the scarf grew uncomfortably warm, she tugged the thing down to her neck. "It's kind of nice out, really," she observed thoughtfully. Below her, Proteus calmly crunched his way through frozen snow-crust. "I thought we'd be freezing out here."

Ramza nodded, smiling faintly. Trees floated past as they walked the birds, bare oaks and birch along with fluffy evergreens. "Yeah. It would have been hard to choose a better day for this."

"True." Letting her smile fade, she eyed him sideways; he rode without fear, without even nerves at being alone in her company. Lips compressed in mild jealousy at his composure, she studied him more closely, looking for clues to his thoughts. Unlike Delita, he was easy to read as a book; wide eyes, an elevated chin, the lack of tension lines around his mouth and eyes, all suggested he was pleased... but her insight ended there. He was a strange one, she mused. With a glance, one could determine the exact state of his mood, but for all his openness his thoughts were still a mystery. He had no tics or nervous habits that she'd noticed, nothing like rubbing an earlobe whenever he thought of her or any such thing. Nothing to let her know what worried him, what she ought to be trying to talk about. _Curious_.

Sensing her attention, he glanced sideways and smiled. A snow-dusted birch trunk slid past between them as the chocobos continued walking.

"Oh," she murmured vaguely, blinking at him. _Think of something!_ "I was... just wondering about your sword," she explained, nodding at the weapon hanging from his belt. "You carry it every time we leave the farm, but I've never heard you speak of it." Which was odd, she reflected; the thing looked to be rather pretty, really, well-made, of good heft and a little ornate, with an amethyst set into the base. Being around Delita had taught her little about swordplay, but she could at least recognize a good one.

"This thing?" he wondered hesitantly, touching the hilt with a gloved hand. "I just... it's just something I picked up, once." Gripping the weapon, he drew it perhaps two hands' width out of the scabbard, allowing a view of the violet-tinted blade, one with lotus petals etched into the steel down its length as if blown there by an errant breeze. After a moment he shrugged, letting the thing slide back again.

"It's pretty," she offered helpfully, shifting her gaze to him. "Why don't you like wearing it?"

He blinked, perhaps not realizing this was apparent, then offered an apologetic smile. "I don't know," he sighed, still smiling, though now he directed the expression at the sword. "Now that we're not always fighting someone, wearing it around just seems like I'm trying to... be a big man, or look dangerous or something."

Ovelia frowned at this. "It's for fighting off monsters and bandits, though, isn't it?" she pressed. "More like a tool than a weapon. And who even sees you with it, anyway?"

Ramza chuckled self-consciously, shaking his head at his saddle. "I don't know. Maybe you're right."

She smiled. "You worry too much." Then the smile faltered slightly. _That sounds like something Alma would have said to him_. "You should teach me to use one," she decided, largely to change the subject.

"What?" he wondered, jerking his head up to gaze at her. "Teach you to use a sword?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. "It's not like we don't have the time."

His brow furrowed in thought, but shortly his eyes wandered down her figure without apparent shame, not that her shape was really visible in the heavy clothes anyway. "If you'll pardon my saying so," he answered, "I'm not sure you really have the... musculature to be swinging one around very much."

She snickered despite herself at imagining such a thing. "Well, it would just be for fun," she objected, "not for real. But I suppose you make a good point."

He rolled his shoulders uncertainly, still studying her. "You have pretty sharp eyes, though," he recalled thoughtfully. "You might make a good archer, if you want to pick up the bow."

"Archery?" she repeated, surprised. "Maybe."

He didn't answer, and she chose not to either, as they continued on through the frozen forest. After a few moments she shook her head helplessly at the irony of having a pleasant conversation with Ramza emerge as a consequence of wondering why it was so hard to talk to him.

Before long they reached the other end of the wood, an abrupt border between rolling tree-studded inclines and a flat expanse of unbroken white glittering in the late morning sun. Holding up a hand against the glaring sunlight, Ovelia slowed Proteus and glanced around, looking for the lightning-split tree Issendal had described.

After a moment Ramza grunted. "I can't find it either," he muttered.

She twisted her lips. "Does it matter? It's a waterfall. How hard can it be to find?"

He chuckled. "True enough." Twitching Boco's reins, he set off loping across the plain, and Ovelia followed alongside him.

Soon the flat ground turned hilly again, forming lumpy peaks and steep valleys; she amused herself briefly by watching bits of snow tumbling downhill from where the chocos ran along a ridgeline. Somehow, she reflected, out here in the open the world simply seemed very _big_, with the two of them tiny in comparison, crawling antlike from place to place.

Then, without warning, they topped a hill and there below them was the river, sluggish and half-frozen a few dozen rocky paces down. Ovelia stopped Proteus unnecessarily, gloved fingers tightening absently on the reins as she frowned down ice-slick rock at the Mintao; the water glittered blackly in the furious sunlight.

"Well, there you go," observed Ramza, nodding downward. "The river."

Shifting her gaze eastward, she stared downriver towards where a faint mist seemed to rise in silent accompaniment to a muted rumble, little more than a wet hiss at this distance, though much closer she suspected it would be a roar. "The waterfall is there," she noted softly. "Let's go."

Ramza nodded, heeling Boco forward, and again she fell in beside him. _It's almost time_, she realized with a faint start as they rode along the rocky bank. _Almost time for him to bring up whatever's bothering him._ Despite this understanding, however, she felt curiously little worry. Perhaps it was simply the lack of sleep, she reflected, but all that reigned inside her was a sort of hollow patience.

As they rode, the roar of the waterfall grew steadily louder until they finally stood beside the thing, staring down at twin twenty-pace drops like two enormous steps in the river. Though ice had gathered at the banks, what flowed over the falls was clearly in no danger of freezing, as fast and forceful as it was; she found herself ruefully reminded of how strong the elements could be, how much sheer _water _flowed mindlessly along the river's course. _If someone was caught under that,_ she mused, _it would crush them, no matter how strong they were_. Odd chunks of ice, swept along down the falls, shattered on jagged rocks under the frothy water below, adding to the noise, while tiny droplets of water danced invisibly in the air all about, creating an oddly-vivid rainbow over the falls.

Something poked her knee and she turned to find Ramza smiling at her. "It's pretty, isn't it?" he concluded, almost shouting to be heard over the falls. "Worth the ride?"

His smile warmed the weariness inside her and she returned it. "It is and it was," she agreed.

He held her gaze for a moment before shifting his smile back to the waterfall. Mist swirled around him in a capricious breeze.

After a moment Ovelia returned to studying the waterfall, pausing first to slip from the saddle to the calf-deep snow on the ground. It still felt strange doing so without worrying about keeping herself modest in a dress, but she ignored the oddity as best she could while taking in the icy beauty all around. _He's right_, she decided, watching a branch tumble over the first drop to disappear without a trace. _It is pretty here. We should come back sometime._

Eventually Ramza pulled off a glove to fumble at his saddlebags; he had dismounted as well, some time ago. "Are you hungry?" he called. "I am."

Ovelia nodded, trusting that he would see the gesture though his eyes were elsewhere. "We should move downstream, though," she suggested, "where we don't have to shout." Her voice was not suited to speaking loudly.

"Good idea," he acknowledged. "Let's go."

As he swung back into the saddle, she did so as well, suppressing a grimace as stiff thigh muscles settled back into place. Ruffling Proteus' feathers, she urged the bird to a trot, fluffing through snow gone shiny and damp from the warm sunlight.

Perhaps a third of a mile later, Ramza slowed and dismounted once more, only to resume the task of rooting through his belongings in search of food. Ovelia stepped to the ground beside him, idly wishing she'd brought an oiled blanket or anything else to spread on the ground.

"Ah, here we go," declared Ramza in satisfaction, pulling out a wrapped bundle of bread, cheese and preserved meat, as well as the wine bottle he'd obligingly selected earlier. "I have a blanket too," he added, reaching for another bag and shortly coming up with a wadded rectangle of plain grey wool.

Ovelia found herself smiling at him. "You think of everything."

"I've been traveling for some time," he explained easily. Fluffing out the blanket, he let the thing settle atop the snow, then rolled to sit on it.

Lips thinned uncertainly, Ovelia sat beside him, soon feeling a cold dampness seeping through her breeches, but at least they wouldn't get soaked. Ahead, more bluffs dropped their way to the hidden river below, though even this far away from the falls a faint mist touched the air.

"Here," he prompted, spreading out the linen food wrap, then carving the bread into chunks before finally stabbing his belt knife into the cheese. "The bread's kind of frozen, I think," he admitted, eyeing the food thoughtfully as he worked at the cork on the wine bottle. "Actually, it's all kind of frozen."

She shook her head, reaching for one of the chunks of bread. "I don't care, Ramza."

"Good." With a muted pop he managed to uncork the wine, then set the thing carefully upright on the blanket.

Ovelia chose not to speak as she ate, though her thoughts remained busy, running through the potential disasters that might crop up once Ramza got around to speaking whatever was on his mind. Foremost among her concerns was the worry that the siblings had finally decided to kick her out; she'd stayed long enough, to be sure, probably much longer than they'd intended, and it would be like Ramza to want to break the news personally, somewhere in private. Of only slightly less concern was the possibility that he'd figured her out, that he'd somehow managed to see through her eyes to read what was written of him in her soul. Either way, she reflected distantly, something unpleasant was about to happen. _But I'll live_, she decided. _Whatever happens, it'll leave me alive, which means it won't be the worst thing that's ever happened to me._ With this realization, what remained of her fear in the vacant state sleeplessness had provided for her slipped away like the swirling mist in the river valley ahead. _I'll live. I'll be fine._

Once most of the food was gone, he shifted slightly on the blanket, turning towards her without quite making eye contact. "Ovelia."

"I know," she answered softly, brushing crumbs from her fingers. "We need to talk."

He smiled faintly at his lap, though the expression quickly disappeared. Hazel eyes rose determinedly to meet hers, as though he were forcing himself to do it. In the sunlight his eyes were almost gold, his pupils just tiny dots. "Ovelia, I'm... we..." Sighing, he trailed off. "This is hard," he admitted, muttering.

She touched his knee briefly, fingertips resting on wool. "Take your time," she suggested.

Again the smile twisted his lips; some part of him found this situation funny, or perhaps simply embarrassing. "Things are weird between us sometimes, you know?" he began, shaking his head. "We've never really talked about why that might be. What I said down by the lake, though... I was serious about that. I'm here; you can talk to me. I figured this would be as good a chance as any to talk it out."

_He wants me to start_, she realized, studying his features, feeling a frown crease her forehead. _He's afraid._ "I..." She paused, wondering how to word it, before finally sighing tiredly. "I really like you," she explained. Her heart thundered in her ribs, beating from excitement, from the thrill of open speaking, not the rush of sweaty panic. "I'll take you if you want to have me. If not, I'll just be glad you're my friend." _There_.

His eyes widened in surprise. "You're... you really feel that way?" he breathed.

"I do," she confirmed, lifting her eyebrows to drive the point home. After a moment she reached for the wine bottle, moving with a cool calm unrepresentative of what sparkled inside her, and lifted the thing for a modest drink. Ramza had not thought to bring glasses, or perhaps had chosen not to risk breaking them.

"I think I knew that," he mused, his attention turning pensively inward. "I'd wondered, at least."

She nodded patiently, placing the bottle back on the blanket; wine smoldered its way down to her stomach. _How could he not know? I've been trying to let him know for weeks now_. "What do you feel?" she prompted when he did not answer.

Blinking, Ramza focused back on her, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I... well, I feel the same. I... like you too." Clearing his throat, he glanced away.

Smiling at his unpoetic response, Ovelia avoided the urge to shake her head. No flowery speech, no theatrics, just a simple admission and a growing puddle of snow-melt chilling her backside. _That doesn't surprise me, though. _"I guess that's good to know," she allowed.

He snorted, nodding. "Yeah. What now, though?"

Drawing legs to her chest, Ovelia rested her chin on a kneecap and eyed him sideways. "I don't know," she murmured. "You know, it's strange. For some reason, after I made the blankets for you and Alma, something just... clicked. I suppose I figured out what I was feeling then, but there were moments when all I wanted to do was run over and start kissing you." He blinked at this, blushing at imagining events new and exciting to him, though familiar to her, but she continued before he could speak. "I advised myself against it, though, and decided on a more... measured approach. I wanted to sort of... flirt with you, over time, to see how you reacted, to see what you wanted, but then I realized I wasn't very good at it. And over time I've also started to think that maybe it wasn't a good idea at all; maybe it would be better just to leave things alone so that Alma doesn't feel excluded. You two are my only friends, you know. I don't want to risk either of you."

Ramza remained silent for long moments, staring off over the bluffs at nothing. Eventually he sighed, toying with his boot laces. "I thought about that too," he admitted. "I even talked about it with Alma a couple of nights ago."

Ovelia nodded along, then frowned when he stopped. "What did she say?"

"That I should settle things," he answered quietly, squinting against the sunlight. "That I should just do what I want and she'd adjust."

"You don't sound happy about that," she observed after a moment.

He shrugged, the sardonic smile coming again to his lips. "I told her I'd talk to you about it," he explained, "and see if you even felt like this at all, and I'd worry about it then. Only now we're there, and you do, so I have to start worrying about her again."

Ovelia chewed a lip, poking absently at the blanket below her boots. "I know you've talked to her," she decided, "but I should too. I can't just... this is something big, you know? I don't want to..."

"I know what you mean," he assured. "I understand."

"Thank you." She paused, feeling some hidden tension ebb inside her. "I'll talk to her tonight, then, or maybe tomorrow. It depends on how busy things are back at the house, I suppose."

He nodded. "Do you want to start heading back?"

"Not yet," she pleaded quietly. "A little longer here, if you don't mind."

"I don't," he answered. "It's cold, though."

"But the sun is warm."

Nodding again, Ramza settled in beside her, stretching legs out along the blanket in front of him. Grabbing the wine bottle, he drank sparingly, then placed it back in its indentation between them.

Ovelia remained motionless, hugging her knees, staring vaguely at the bluffs on the other side of the river. An urge burned inside her, the desire to snuggle closer, to lean her head on him or some such, but she avoided it with some difficulty; she had no wish to risk ruining the silent moment with needless affection, not after they'd managed to clear the smoke for once and for all. _This is enough, for now. He knows how I feel._

Eventually she stirred, folding the linen wrapper back into place, handing Ramza's knife back to him. "I suppose we should go," she mused, "if we don't want to ride back in the dark."

"Yeah." Taking a moment to wedge the cork back into the bottle, he stood, pausing only briefly before holding a hand down to her.

She took it, accepting his unneeded help to her feet, but once risen did not release his hand. Instead she shuffled closer, staring seriously up into his eyes. "Ramza?"

"Hmm?" He blinked back down at her, soulful eyes expressing patient curiosity.

She swallowed. "If... things don't go well with Alma, I want you to know I'm glad for today. And... it won't change how I feel."

He smiled. "I know. I feel the same." His voice was low now, the usual tension gone.

"And," she continued, suppressing the urge to lick her lips, "I'll want some... some gesture to remember us by." Before he could do more than blink, she closed her eyes and rose to her toes, pressing her lips against his own.

Ramza froze, one hand still on the wine bottle, but slowly he relaxed, snaking his free arm around her back, pulling her closer. He was a gentle kisser, she realized, inexperienced but passionate, not fierce or forceful at all; something inside her melted into a warm and happy glow.

When she finally pulled back, her arms had somehow twined themselves behind his neck; she giggled, delicately extracting herself from him and stepping away. "Okay," she declared. "Now we can go."

He stared at her briefly, apparently still in shock, then laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Let me get some food into the birds and we'll head back."


	9. Chapter 9: A Warm Morning

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters. I'm doing this for fun, not profit._

Chapter Nine: A Warm Morning

Ramza rode back to the farm in a slight daze; snow and trees floated past without much definition, and Boco provided most of the navigation. Or perhaps Ovelia did and Boco simply followed. He barely had the attention to notice.

_She kissed me,_ he recalled for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour. _Ovelia kissed me. _The thought was curiously free of emotional character, save for a mild wonder that remained constant no matter how many times he thought it. And even the wonder hadn't been there until shortly after they'd started their journey back to the ranch; he'd been riding along, smiling, when suddenly it struck him like a kick to the forehead, and he'd been that way ever since.

Shaking his head helplessly, he chanced a sideways glance at his companion but she was simply gazing absently off through the trees of the wood near Hystet. _Amazing. She's not affected at all. Not visibly, at least. _He'd never kissed anyone before, not like that; she'd cloven his world in half, split his life into very clear pre-kiss and post-kiss portions, but for her it hadn't been of such monumental interest, something get a little nervous over, but no more.

_But this isn't new to her like it is to me, _he reminded himself, frowning fiercely at the snow-blanketed forest floor. _She's been married before; she's probably done all sort of... whatever._ This sort of... imbalance between them was not something he'd considered before. _Does this all mean the same to her as it does to me?_

Something tickled his notice, drawing his attention again to the side. Ovelia was watching him, he saw; as their eyes met she smiled, a shy expression, and glanced away with faint color touching her cheeks.

_Of course it does,_ he answered himself wearily, rubbing a gloved hand down his face. _Of course it does. She just... there's no changing what's already happened, I guess._

Lips thinned, he shifted his grip on the reins and stared through the trees. Home wasn't far away.

* * *

Alma finished the meal before the others returned to the house. Letting the soup simmer, she covered the bread to keep it warm and sprawled at the kitchen table, idly knuckling her back before retrieving her book and flipping it open. 

_I wonder why they're late, _she wondered distantly as another chapter in Ordalia's dramatic history unfolded in crisp black ink under her eyes. _I almost hope they just stopped to make out somewhere. At least they'd be doing it away from me._

Perhaps a half-hour later the front door slammed open. Ovelia's murmuring voice carried through into the kitchen, her words indistinct, followed by a low laugh from Ramza as the pair stomped snow from their boots.

Blinking, Alma set the book down, then rose and shuffled to the kitchen doorway; Ramza and Ovelia each spared her a smile of greeting before returning to the task of escaping from their winter gear. For a moment she simply stood there, chewing a lip, glancing cautiously between the two of them, but the tension that had flooded the room whenever they were together had largely disappeared. At the moment Ovelia radiated a content glow despite the lack of a smile, while Ramza merely seemed preoccupied.

Eventually Alma folded arms over her chest and eyed them with a put-upon frown. "I hope you're hungry," she declared. "It would serve you right if the soup's simmered its way to blandness by now."

Though Ovelia smiled, Ramza turned a concerned expression her way. "I'm sorry," he answered worriedly. "I always forget how early it gets dark out now, and I don't want to push the chocobos at night if I don't have to."

Alma was shaking her head at the ceiling before he even finished speaking. "Don't worry about it. Just come in and eat." Turning her back on the pair, she took her own advice, scooping up a bowl and resuming her seat at the table.

In moments the others appeared as well, faces still flushed from the return to warmth after a day in the cold. Alma continued to watch the two out of the corners of her eyes; if they had paired up, she expected Ramza would have gone out of his way to, say, serve up Ovelia's food to her, but this proved not to be the case. Instead they proceeded as they always did, tending to their own affairs, eating without fanfare. _Interesting,_ she mused. _So maybe nothing happened. Maybe they're not an item._

Dismissing her curiosity, she plucked a chunk of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. "How was your ride?" she wondered, tearing off a bite-sized chunk.

Both of them blushed at the question, Ovelia trying not to smile whereas Ramza seemed almost frustrated. "It was... good," he managed after a moment, meeting her gaze. "The falls are pretty in the winter. You should try to see them sometime."

_"You,"_ repeated Alma silently. _Not "we."_ Smiling wryly, she shrugged. "They'll probably be just as pretty when it's warm out, too."_ Damn it, I can't figure this out. I suppose I could just... ask._

Ramza snorted, shaking his head faintly, and continued eating. Ovelia eyed him fondly then did likewise, choosing not to speak.

The meal proceeded in silence, as they usually did. Afterwards, as Alma sat slouched in her chair, trying to decide whether she wanted the last bit of bread remaining, Ovelia directed a meaningful look at Ramza, who stared mutely back at her.

After a moment he cleared his throat, glancing about the kitchen. "I think I'm going to set up a fire outside," he announced, planting palms on the table to push himself to his feet. "It wasn't all that cold out today, really; it seemed like a good night for it." Beside him, Ovelia toyed with the spoon in her empty bowl, unsurprised.

"You do that," nodded Alma, concealing her suspicion. "I'll be out when I'm done cleaning up."

"I'll help too," volunteered Ovelia softly, as was her custom. "This doesn't look like it should take long," she added.

Smiling, Ramza tugged his shirt straight and disappeared through the doorway. Soon came the sound of him dressing back up for the cold outside.

Lips pursed, Alma gathered the dirty bowls from the table and made for the wash basin, keeping her ears alert. Behind her, rustling cloth and scraping wood spoke to Ovelia pushing the chairs back in.

Once the thump of the front door closing sounded from the other room, Alma paused for a moment, then tilted back the jug of water she'd used to fill the basin. Dusting hands clean, she turned around to face the other woman. "So," she began with a frown, "how did the...?"

"Alma, we need..." started Ovelia at the same time. Hesitating, she relaxed into a giggle which Alma shared. After a moment the former queen composed herself, though she remained smiling. "You first," she nodded.

Clearing her throat, Alma waited for the smile to fade from her own face. "How did the ride really go?" she asked quietly, meeting her friend's gaze. "I know why you two went out."

"It was... nice," allowed Ovelia delicately, eyes sliding to one side as pinkness touched her cheeks again. "The falls _were_ pretty, like he said, but... we talked. And I kissed him."

_Finally_. "I see," acknowledged Alma, though after a moment she shook her head. "I kept wondering when you two would pair up."

"Well, we... we haven't," explained Ovelia; her hands wrung together briefly until she stilled them with visible effort. Brown eyes darted back to meet Alma's. "I wanted to talk to you about that, first."

_Oh, great_. Lifting an eyebrow, Alma waited. "About what? Why?"

Ovelia sighed, turning away, wrapping arms around her middle as though cold. "We both really like each other," she elaborated, speaking softly, almost absently. "If it were just us, we would be together now, I think, but... I wanted to talk to you about it first."

"To me?" echoed Alma. "Why?"

Ovelia shifted again, eyeing her sideways. "I just wanted to tell you about it," she answered. "See what you thought of it. Ramza said the two of you talked about this before, but I wanted to as well. I wanted to make sure we have your approval."

"My approval?" Battling a smoldering irritation, Alma clenched fists at her sides and growled helplessly at the ceiling. "Of course you can have it," she continued, forcing calm into her voice. "For heaven's sake, Ovelia, this... this... everyone tiptoeing around each other is driving me mad. I'd much rather walk in on you two engaged in the act of love on the floor in front of the hearth twice a week than have to go through this all time time. My God." Clamping her mouth shut, Alma made a sour face, annoyed at having let her tongue run away from her, then met the other woman's gaze with a semblance of dignity.

Freezing, Ovelia gazed back at her, mouth open; a few strands of wavy golden hair hung aside her face, having escaped her tail. "Umm," she managed vaguely, "that's... not what I..." Abruptly her brow furrowed prettily, a baffled frown. "Really?"

"Really," assured Alma, sighing heavily. "Although, if you could avoid the... on-the-floor thing, I'd... appreciate that."

"Alma, we're..." Ovelia trailed off, one thumb twitching to point vaguely off towards Ramza. "We just..." Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Look, I just didn't want you to think we were sneaking behind your back or anything. You two are my only friends."

"Well, thank you," replied Alma in a murmur, dipping her head. "I do appreciate that. I admit I was a little... jealous before, maybe, but you already have his heart, and it's not like he's suddenly going to forget about me. I'm not made of porcelain, Ovelia. Do what you want."

Her roommate studied for a time, then broke into a smile. "You mean that?"

Alma returned the smile. "I mean everything I say."

"Okay." Ovelia darted a glance towards the doorway. "Then as soon as we're done here, I'm going to..."

"Oh, just go now," interrupted Alma, turning to soak a rag in the tub. "I'll finish cleaning up. Like you said, there's not much."

"Okay," repeated Ovelia, laughing. "Thank you."

* * *

After cleaning most of the snow off the rocks near the firepit and getting a flickering flame going within, Ramza sat on his heels with little to do but watch it grow. A finger-thin tendril of smoke arose from it, fluffing out and disappearing well before it reached the star-studden heavens above. 

_I wonder what's taking them so long, _he mused absently, shifting sticks around so the fire would spread faster. _They should have started talking as soon as I got out here. Assuming Alma told Ovelia what she told me, then kicked Ovelia out so she could finish cleaning, that should be... well, she should be here by now._ He sighed, shaking his head; a twig popped, sending a few sparks swirling briefly. _Unless they're arguing,_ he realized with a sudden frown. _Though why would...?_

The door opening interrupted his worries. Glancing back, he spotted a smiling Ovelia making her way towards him, bundled up in the heavy garments she'd worn earlier, a lumpy shadow in the starlight.

"Hey," she called softly, ducking her head briefly. "Nice fire."

He chuckled, shifting his attention back to the orange tongues licking at the wood he'd arranged. "The talk must have gone well."

Snow crunched under boots as she approached and seated herself on one of the rocks he'd cleared earlier. "It was... interesting," she reflected in a low voice, "but I think good."

"I told you it would be," he smiled. She smiled back, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but he returned his attention to the growing fire. The flames were big enough now to allow for larger logs atop them, so he shifted them about, sending another storm of sparks skyward. _There_.

"What is it?" she murmured after a moment. "Something's wrong."

His eyes widened despite himself. _We're together less than a day, and she already knows me that well? _Sighing, he shifted about to eye her warily. "It's... silly," he warned. "You don't want to hear it."

Her lips curved in the warm firelight. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I know," he nodded. "It's just a problem that I have, and it'll probably annoy you to hear about it."

Ovelia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You can't say that and then not tell me what it is," she countered.

He grimaced. "Well, it's..." Turning, he gazed into the growing fire. "I've never had anyone before, you know?" he muttered. "But you have. This is all new to me, but it doesn't faze you. I'd always just... kind of assumed that... if I ever really met anyone, I'd be their first too."

A long silence prompted him to glance up again; Ovelia was staring into the fire as well now, her face clouded, almost angry. "That's what's bothering you?" she wondered in a whisper.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I told you it was silly."

Another bout of silence erupted. Trying not to sigh again, Ramza poked idly at the fire, lips twisted. _It's not her fault,_ he reminded himself, not for the first time today, to no avail. Unbidden, memories arose in the depths of his mind, a recollection of roaming the underworld, three arrows and a pair of bullets in him, left arm charred nearly to uselessness, searching for Alma but certain he was going to die; around that same time, however, perhaps at that very same moment, Ovelia would have been in some plush castle bedchamber with Delita, doing... things. Perhaps doing... things... came easily for her, too easily.

_No! She didn't know!_ he scolded himself angrily. _They ended up stabbing each other. It's not fair at all to hold that against her; she was doing what she was supposed to, married and everything. I didn't even want her back then. I had enough to worry about, and even so, Agrias was waiting for me. _Rubbing his temples, he tossed his poking stick carelessly atop the blaze now; it was going well enough anyway. _Though maybe... I wonder how I'd feel now if she and I had..._

"How was I supposed to know?" whispered Ovelia, hugging knees to her chest. "I didn't know much then, Ramza. I thought he was the right one." She was glaring now, at the fire, not looking at him.

"I know," he snapped, then took a deep breath, calming himself. "I know," he repeated in a more reasonable voice. "Like I said, it's just a problem for me to work through. You did ask, though." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he flinched.

Before he could muster an apology, however, the house door opened again and Alma strolled out, wrapped in a heavy grey cloak. "Hey," she greeted, grinning, "the fire looks pretty... wait, what's wrong?"

At the question Ovelia stood abruptly, turning her head fractionally in Ramza's direction. "We'll talk later," she declared curtly. Spinning, she stalked past Alma and strode into the house.

After a moment Ramza let fall the hand he'd reached after her. _Well, damn._

Pulling the cloak closer around herself, Alma shuffled closer, head down as though deep in thought. As she approached, however, she wound back and delivered a fierce punch to his shoulder.

"Ow! Alma, what the hell was that for?" Gripping the shoulder with his other hand, he glared at her.

She glared right back at him, eyes narrow with disgust, then spun and followed Ovelia back into the house. The door thumped shut behind her with a mocking finality.

Ramza stared mutely at the house, then at the fire. _Well, at least it's warm out here._

* * *

"I can't believe he said that to you," mused Alma in wonder, shifting her gaze to the front door; her brother had been outside for perhaps a quarter hour, and only now had Ovelia managed to recite their brief conversation. "What a jerk." 

On the next chair, her friend shifted vaguely, still folded into a pensive ball, arms around her legs. "I don't know," she admitted quietly, staring at nothing. "Maybe he brings up a valid point. I've never even thought that that could be a problem."

"Because it _shouldn't_ be a problem," added Alma firmly. "I thought he was a bigger man than that."

Ovelia shifted a subdued gaze to her. "Have you ever had to deal with it?"

"Well..." She sighed, examining her fingernails discreetly. "Not really."

The other woman nodded silently. Moments slipped past into silence.

"But still," pressed Alma, "even if you suppose he is right, what can you do then? Not a whole lot."

"I could apologize for getting so upset," suggested Ovelia thoughtfully. "He wasn't even going to say anything until I asked him about it."

"Apologize?" echoed Alma, baffled. "Ovelia, he doesn't own your past. You need to make him understand that."

"I think he does understand, though," reflected the former queen. "He even said he knew it was just something he'd have to figure out by himself."

"But _you_ shouldn't be apologizing," continued Alma firmly. "He's the one who messed up."

Mild brown eyes slid to meet her own seriously. "Alma, I'm not certain you're the best person to give me advice about this."

"Are you joking?" she snickered. "Nobody knows him better than I do."

"As a lover?"

Alma felt her smile sour. "Why do you...? No, obviously not. It's just... it's just that if you go out there now, he might not think before he talks next time either. He's not very good at that, so you should probably... what are you laughing at?"

Ovelia shook her head; slowly the smile faded from her lips. "Nothing. This does sound a little vengeful, though. I don't want to hurt him."

Eyeing the other woman suspiciously, Alma nodded once. "Don't worry about him so much; you didn't hurt him as much as he hurt you." She paused, frowning. "I assume... he's right, isn't he? I mean, if he's not, you can just go out there and tell him so, but I'm guessing you and Delita..."

"Yes," murmured the other woman; brown eyes focused inward in absent melancholy. "We... were trying to have a child." Fingers curled briefly into the wool of her breeches.

Alma's breath caught and she studied her friend for a moment. "Are you...? I'm sorry about that, Ovelia. That must have made it even worse."

Slim shoulders shrugged faintly, though Ovelia's veil of introspection remained in place. "It was bad," she confirmed in a whisper, "and it still hurts, you know? But having it rise up again and bite me now in a totally different way... that hurts too."

Nodding helpfully, Alma searched for words. _What am I doing? _she wondered vaguely. _She should just be telling this to Ramza herself_. "Look," she sighed, "you're right. I... have no experience in this, I guess, and I'm can't make you do anything. What do I know? Maybe you two really should just talk it out; you seem good at that."

Though Ovelia's lips curved it took some time for her to reply. "Maybe. I don't know." She paused, and the absent look vanished from her eyes as she blinked at Alma. "I think I just want to... think about it, for now. I'll probably just go to bed, but if I do... can you tell him I'm not angry?"

"Of course," she assured. "Don't worry."

"Thank you." Unfolding to her feet, Ovelia smiled again. "I'll see you in the morning."

As the woman disappeared, Alma chewed a lip, finally pushing herself to her feet. A few moments let her slip back into her boots and cloak, and soon she was back outside.

Ramza, she saw, was seated glumly in front of the fire, staring into it. He whipped around as soon as the door opened, a hopeful expression on his face, though on seeing it wasn't Ovelia he slumped again. "Hi, Alma," he greeted quietly.

"Nice to see you too," she replied dryly, trotting to claim the seat next to him. A comfortable fiery warmth gripped her so close to the blaze, bringing a smile to her lips.

For a time the crackling of the fire provided the only sound, but eventually Ramza shifted. "I goofed up, didn't I?" he mused softly. "I hurt her. Our first day together and we fought."

"True," agreed Alma, keeping her voice just as quiet. "Then again, when you first found her, you two fought once or twice a day."

He chuckled without humor. "You did too, though."

She shook her head faintly. "I'm supposed to tell you she's not angry. She's gone to bed, though; I guess she just wanted some time alone. You know," she added with a grin, "_she_ wanted to come out here and apologize to _you_ until I talked her out of it."

He nodded once without saying anything. Warm firelight danced on his repentant features.

Alma studied him for a time, smile fading, then shifted her gaze back to the fire. This was new territory, she realized; normally when something had upset him, she could manage to cheer him up somehow, but his concerns had now assumed a different character. No longer was he worried just for himself, or for her.

Eventually she cleared her throat. "It's... getting late," she pointed out gently. "Come to bed. Get an early start tomorrow and talk to her then."

His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. "The fire will be burning for another hour, probably," he countered, nodding at the thing. "I think I'll stay out here until it's smoldering out."

She compressed her lips. "Do you want me to stay out here with you?"

Serious dark eyes flickered to meet hers. "I'd never say no to having you here."

Standing, Alma kicked her rock across icy ground until it lay next to his, then sat on the thing, letting herself slump into him. Ramza threw an arm around her shoulders and together they stared at the fire in companionable silence.

_It's going to be different now, _she reminded herself as his body warmed hers up. _His arm will be around someone else at the fire from now on. As it should be, really._ She paused, letting her eyes slide shut. _Whether they work out together or not, I don't think things can go back to how they were before._ Sighing heavily, she shifted her seat on the cold rock and settled in to enjoy this closeness while she still could.

Some time later he moved; she stirred, confused until she realized she'd fallen asleep. The fire was just embers now, she saw, menacing webs of crimson glowing among the ashes in the icy night. "Is it time to go in?" she wondered, her voice sounding husky to her own ears.

"We should," he answered, rising to his feet and offering a hand down to her, which she took. "I actually got cold a little while ago but I didn't want to disturb you."

Alma chuckled, pausing to rub some feeling into her cold backside. Moonlight left the snow all around a ghostly silver punctuated only by the black blurs of trees. "Thank you," she offered with a dip of her head, "but I'd be warmer inside. Let's go."

* * *

Ovelia lay motionless in her bed, staring vaguely along her pillow at the line of moonlight that slipped between the closed shutters; right now it angled across her legs, but in an hour, perhaps, it would be in her eyes. She was undecided on whether she would move when that happened. 

_What a strange day,_ she mused distantly. _So much happened._ The ride. The kiss. Her first fight with Ramza, hopefully not the last.

Her anger at his comment from earlier had long since vanished, replaced now, if anything, by worry; it was something that troubled him, and what troubled him now troubled her. As Alma had claimed, there wasn't much to be done about it now except to stay with him and show him that a little spat wasn't going to scare her off. _I just hope it doesn't scare him off either,_ she sighed. _It shouldn't. He's strong._

Perhaps it would help, she reflected, if she simply explained things to him. Talking seemed to help, to a surprising degree; he listened well and her inadequacies seemed to be, in his eyes, endearing. She could tell him anything. _Maybe he'd understand more if we talked. Yes,_ she decided idly. _I'll do that._ At least it would be a little better than talking to Alma; the younger Beoulve was too sharp, asked more piercing questions. Ovelia was still proud she'd kept her face smooth and voice level when explaining about Delita earlier, about how they'd been trying for an heir. _Maybe I really am healing now. But Alma's a friend, anyway; if I'd started crying, she'd have understood._

As if in response to her thoughts, subdued voices drifted through the walls, followed by the thump of the front door being pulled shut. The occasional voice or creak of floorboards kept her company in the solitude of her room for the next few moments, but when the expected pair of footsteps approached her room, on their way to their own, Ovelia closed her eyes.

As she had supposed would happen, somebody tapped lightly on her door. "Ovelia?" came Ramza's whispering voice. "Are you awake?"

She shifted on the bed, letting her eyes slide back open. Though the thought of disturbing her privacy likely unnerved him, she'd guessed that his concern for her would outweigh his anxiety. "I'm awake," she confirmed softly.

"I... just want to apologize," he explained quietly. "I won't bring it up again, if you want. I'm a... jealous person, I guess. It must run in the family." The walls muffled some sidelong comment of Alma's, concealing the words but preserving her withering tone intact.

When Ovelia didn't respond right away, the floorboards creaked some more outside the door before he apparently began moving off towards his own room. "Ramza," she called, her voice coming out more breathy than she'd intended.

The faint wooden protest outside stopped, then returned to her door. "Ovelia?"

_Now's my chance... but what to say to him?_ Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out again. "Come in here. Please."

To his credit, he hesitated only briefly before complying. A swirl of chill air made a few odd hairs dance away from her head as he opened and closed the door, and soon a weight depressed the mattress behind her. "What is it?" he asked after a moment.

Fumbling back near him, Ovelia found one of his hands and gripped it without turning around. "I want to be honest with you, Ramza," she began, swallowing. "Delita and I were... trying to have a child when you found me." The words came out even easier this time; someday, she decided, when things had settled more between them, she'd have to tell him about exactly what prompted the stabbing. _But this first, I guess._ "I thought it was the right thing to do," she continued. "I thought I loved him... or, rather, I did love him. But..." She trailed off, frowning, then rolled over onto her other side to face Ramza, keeping the blankets tucked around herself, all without letting go of his hand. "If I knew then what I know now, though, I would have done things differently. I'd have run the other way in Lionel, run off with you and Agrias and everyone. I never would have looked back." Chewing a lip, she stared up at his shadowed figure, trying to read his face in the dimness.

"I believe you," he murmured after a moment; his hand squeezed hers in reassurance. "It all must have been very painful for you. I don't want you to spend time worrying about me when the pain is yours."

"But you feel hurt too," she countered softly. "Or at least uncomfortable. I don't want you to feel that way."

He smiled, serious lines shifting into affectionate curves. "Don't worry about me. I'm just sorry this concerned me at all, sorry it even come up."

She shook her head slightly on the pillow. "You don't have to apologize for your emotions," she scolded gently. "They're why I like you."

For a time he simply stared down at her, but eventually he chuckled. "Well, good."

"We're together now, right?" she continued. "You're the one I want." Ignoring a flash of humor at the similarity of their situation to the only other time he'd been in the room, she summoned a reassuring smile, hoping he could see it.

"That's... that's good to hear," he acknowledged faintly.

Ovelia blinked at his apparent nervousness until it occurred to her how her words must have sounded to him. _But it's true,_ she reminded herself, smothering a light fluttering somewhere inside. Lifting his hand, she planted a tender kiss on its back, then another, slower one, letting her breath warm his flesh, letting her lower lip peel away with a silent whisper as she lifted her head to gaze meaningfully up at him.

The effect was immediately apparent; his breath caught, and warm fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her own. His pulse leapt to an excited racing.

She met his gaze without looking away; she could read him like a book now. The feel of her lips had thrilled him, but he was too uncertain yet to act on his own. Instead he would freeze, hoping that by not disturbing the situation the kisses would continue or perhaps even escalate into something else. He wasn't certain how far he wanted to go, and though he hungered for more he lacked the confidence to take it. For now, his initiative was mere permission.

It would be easy, she knew. Easy to seduce him. Another few kisses, maybe one or two on his palm or fingers, followed by a gentle tug, and he'd be lying on his side next to her; after that would come more kissing, followed by roaming hands -- he would follow suit if she started it -- and eventually clothes would start to disappear. She wore only a shift, preferring extra blankets over extra clothes, and once it was gone, though he'd be nervous, he wouldn't be able to make himself leave. He'd be at her mercy.

She knew exactly how he felt. She'd been on the other end of this game, before.

It would be easy, if she wanted him. It was strange; he was older than her, much more competent, far more worldly, but in this area he might as well have been a child for all his ability to resist her taking what she wanted. This sensation was a new one, oddly addictive, for never before had she had such power over anyone. It ached to be used, to warm something cold, to turn something lonely into something beautiful and loving. It would be easy. As the moments slipped past he stared back down at her, frozen, captive.

_He's... not ready, is he?_ she realized, her mood disappearing like a pricked bubble. _God, what am I doing? He's barely comfortable holding my hand. How easy it is for me... that's part of what hurts him_. Shivering, squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled back to her other side, clutching Ramza's hand over her thundering heart. "You should go," she whispered. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Are you...?" He paused, swallowing audibly. "Are you okay?"

She nodded once, feeling her hair whisper across the pillow. _I won't hurt you, Ramza._ "I'll explain later. Sometime."

"Okay," he acknowledged. For a time he fell silent, hand warm and strong in hers but strangely not sweaty; she had expected him to show more nerves. "Thank you," he continued quietly, "for... explaining things. I... I think I feel better now. I'm sorry such a silly thing turned into such a big problem."

Ovelia smiled into the darkness. "It wasn't a big problem. I was angry at you for... less than half an hour. Think of how long I was angry at Delita," she added.

He snorted, fingers tightening over her own. After a moment his weight shifted on the mattress, and warm lips pressed a soft kiss against the exposed skin on the side of her neck. "Like I said," he murmured, "thank you. Sleep well." Squeezing her hand one last time, he extracted his own and departed, closing the door quietly behind him.

Once he was gone, she let out the breath she'd been holding since he'd kissed her. _That was... nice, _she reflected. _Maybe he's... maybe he's less nervous than I thought._ Giggling under her breath, she tugged the blankets over her head and tried to calm down enough to sleep.

* * *

As dawn broke over the eastern hills, Ramza lay on his back in calf-deep snow, tongue caught between his teeth as he fumbled with a joint in the wooden fence forming the chocobo pen. Some strong wind a few nights past had torn a loose beam free and now the weathered end wouldn't stay in its hole in the post. He'd tried his hand at wedging the thing in with a few spare pieces of wood, with little success, and now hoped to affix it in place with a few nails. With luck it would hold until summer, when he could replace the whole post with a new one. Or maybe the whole fence with a new one. 

_Summer_, he grunted, flinching as his gloved fingers dropped a nail past his cheek. _Why couldn't this have broken in a warmer season? It's not too bad out now, though,_ he reflected. _The sunlight's nice. It'll be warm today._ Already the snow around him gleamed wetly in the orange dawn light.

With the errant nail back in place, he held it there while groping for his hammer. Quickly he found the thing and delivered a series of rapid taps. Sharp iron bit easily into rotten wood, but at least it worked; removing the support of his right knee left the beam properly suspended. Nodding to himself, he found his other nail and repeated the process at a different angle. As he hammered, the house's front door opened, probably one of the women come to fetch more water or some such.

_There_, he nodded once finished. _That should stay._ A few backhanded slaps shivered the beam but the nails held. Tossing the hammer aside, he prepared to scoot out from under the fence, but something cold and wet struck the side of his face before he could move.

_What the...? A snowball?_ Icy water began trickling down his temple, confirming his guess. Hesitating only briefly, he rolled aside and sat up, quickly enough to bat aside another incoming snowball; slushy debris peppered his face as the thing disintegrated.

"Oh," groaned a giggling Ovelia fifteen paces away. "You're too fast." A slim coat-clad figured, she bent to scoop up another handful of wet snow.

Pushing himself to his feet, Ramza jogged in her direction, diving away from the new snowball as she threw it. Landing easily on his back, he twisted and gripped one of her booted ankles; a quick tug produced a yelp of surprise, and then she was on her backside in the snow next to him.

Ovelia, grinning, reached for more snow, then paused, eyeing him. "I'm going to lose if I keep this up, aren't I?" she laughed. Dark eyes glittered in the low sunlight.

He smiled back pleasantly. "Yeah."

Shaking her head, she climbed to her feet, idly slapping melting snow from the back of her dress. "It's not nice to manhandle a woman so, you know," she murmured absently.

Shrugging, Ramza rose as well, making no effort to dry himself; lying in the snow had already made him wet enough to dismiss a snowball as trifling. "You ambushed me," he countered. "Even I wouldn't attack a man working on a fence."

She giggled again, straightening her overcoat. "I figured it would be the only way I'd actually hit you."

Laughing despite himself, he watched as the woman finished tidying herself. He'd been worried that her mood from last night would have carried over into today, but she seemed happy enough, just standing there in the snow and smiling at him. "You must be feeling well," he observed somewhat unnecessarily.

Her smile broadened briefly before disappearing and she nodded once, golden tail swaying. "I was better last night, really," she admitted, rolling her shoulders, squinting against the sunlight. "I just had... other worries on my mind."

He nodded as well, slowly. He had two guesses as to what might have been worrying her; first, their argument had undoubtedly reminded her of Delita, and second, there'd been... the look. He swallowed just remembering her expression, hungry and smoldering, as determined as that of a leopard with her eyes on prey. There was, in his judgement, no way to misinterpret such a look, and her troubled way of shutting him out afterwards had served only to confirm his suspicion. She wanted him, or had wanted him at that moment, but was as wary of her desire as he was. _And that makes us safe, Ovelia. You're not going to hurt me._

As the silence grew awkward, he summoned a faint smile. "You can share your worries with me, you know," he replied carefully.

Liquid brown eyes shifted minutely as she read his face, but shortly she offered an answering smile. "That's good." After a moment she snickered, cutting her gaze towards the house. "But what's more good is that breakfast is ready. Alma's probably already eating it."

"Ah," he blinked. "Good. I suppose I'll need to change first, though." His sister would not be pleased if he dripped snow melt all over the kitchen. Neither, for that matter, would Ovelia.

"And then after I clean up," she murmured, "you can teach me about archery. I really do want to learn things, you know."

"I believe you," he nodded, setting off towards the house. "Consider it done."

Rather than walk by his side to the door, Ovelia slipped behind him, smiling at the snow; before he could think to ask what she was about, a pair of arms appeared around his chest, clinging tightly, and an accompanying weight tugged him stumbling backwards a few steps. Stocking-clad knees hugged his hips as a cold nose playfully rubbed the back of his neck.

Laughing, Ramza gripped under her knees, hefting her to comfort, then angled towards the house once more. "Mind the legs, now," he warned over his shoulder. "I'm not sure the door is really wide enough for the both of us like this."

Ovelia giggled in answer. Smiling to himself, he stomped through glittering wet snow towards food, warm shelter and comfort.

* * *

_Author's Note: 'Kay, done. I'm not totally happy with how this last chapter goes, but what can you do? Seems like I'm never happy with the endgame. Guess I know where I need my practice. _

_Endless thanks go out to all who read and reviewed. I know, people say that a lot, but I'm serious. I owe each and every one of you a leaping full-body hug. Or a gentlemanly handshake, if you prefer. But in any case, thank you.  
_


End file.
